[Nyx snorts, a harsh stifled laugh and even that gets cut off as his King claims his mouth again. The softest of groans, barely more than an exhale, but this is precisely what he wanted. It's so satisfying to have the older man pressing into him as well, taking as much as Nyx is.
Between that and the prickle of magic on the air there's part of Nyx that wants to push up against him, crawl into his lap, over him, devour him right here on the balcony. Heat sings through his blood, fingers flexing against Regis' leg, forcibly stilling himself from pushing too hard, too fast.
And then Regis draws back, speaks against his lips and Nyx has to grit his teeth so he doesn't snap at him, latch onto his lip with teeth and do something that would be far too noticeable come morning.]
Oh? This bothering your back already, old man?
[It'd be a more convincing challenge if he weren't already so breathless, if the hand on Regis' thigh weren't already going back to kneading and this time creeping a little higher. But if Regis is going to keep playing up the age difference then Nyx is damn well going to give him shit for it.
And maybe, just maybe, there's something arousing about that too. Shit, he's got it bad.]
[The first response Nyx's gets is the scolding click of tongue behind teeth, but Regis quickly follows that with a laugh.]
What a cheeky thing you are once you've gotten what you want.
[Like he didn't already know that going into this.]
See if I worry about the state of your knees again. [The threat is an empty one, betrayed thoroughly by the fondness in Regis' eyes and the gentleness of the fingers that comes to rest against Nyx's cheek.]
It pains me that you have to hold back for my sake, though I cannot thank you enough for doing it.
[Regis' free hand finds the one that is so bravely creeping up his leg and brings it to his lips, so he can press a kiss to it.]
I will make it worth your wait. Come. Lets move this to my quarters so we both can relax and worry not about who might come across us.
If the worst thing I have to do this week is kneel on a stone floor for a little while then it's a boring week.
[How could you expect anything other than sass and fight from this man, Regis. You know better. Still he smiles, presses into the hand on his cheek and rolls his eyes at the comment about his restraint. Way to make him sound desperate, Regis.
It isn't until Regis has stopped his hand and drawn it up that he even realizes how far it had crept without his notice or permission.]
Ah... yeah. Probably a good idea.
[Nyx has the decency to blush a little. He doesn't want Regis to have to maintain this fog for too long and he does want the other man to be comfortable, regardless of all the teasing. He shifts back onto his heels, rolls smoothly back to his feet. A moment to lean over Regis, capturing his lips for one more kiss before he steps away. It takes only a moment for him to collect the fallen cane, but even though he has it he offers Regis his arm to brace against as he stands instead of that heavy walking stick.]
Boring weeks are becoming rather elusive these days, aren't they? [Despite his best efforts, there's a regret-tinged sadness that makes it way into Regis' eyes. He hides it by shifting his gaze from Nyx to where his dress cape rests discarded a chair over, slightly out of his reach. The last thing he wants to do is ask Nyx to retrieve it for him. The Glaive is already catering to him more than he should have to. He may be a servant of the Crown, but this type of service is far below him.
With a sharp flick of his hand, Regis accesses the Armiger and the cape disappears with a soft crystalline crackle. He draws a slow measured breath to beat back the rush of exhaustion that follows. It's been growing harder to access the Armiger lately--just one more reason he has no more place on the battlefield--and he may regret that action later when he has to spend time fishing to find the cape again, but for now the matter has been taken care of.
Once he's sure his energy level has stabilized, Regis draws himself up from the chair, doing his best to ignore the protests of his back and leg. If the only immediate consequence he has to deal with from that bit of frivolous magic is having to lean a little heavier on Nyx's arm than he would prefer, he's not going to complain. Instead, once they've finally started toward his rooms, he tilts his head in the Glaive's direction nearly whispering in his ear.]
You blush rather fetchingly. I'm going to have to see that it happens more often.
[He shrugs a little. Boring is getting harder and harder to come by, sure, but he has no complaints, not for himself. Seeing how much just that little flicker of magic weighs on Regis, though, makes him frown a little. He almost offers more assistance than just a brace and counterbalance as Regis gets to his feet but there's a fine line between necessary assistance and babying him. He doesn't want to cross that line.
So he lets Regis lean into him and when the older man shifts ever so slightly to murmur in his ear Nyx lets his arm shift from directly under Regis' hand to sliding around his waist. It leaves them pressed lightly against each other from hip to shoulder and that alone is enough to have Nyx humming a soft contented sigh.
He laughs at the words though, sharp and bright and perhaps more bravado than he wants to admit.]
Blush? C'mon, sir. You know Galahdians are shameless, you'll have to do better than that.
Oh, most certainly. How could I not know when I have such a perfect example of that here at my side?
[The amusement that brightens Regis' pale green eyes really should warn Nyx that he's not getting off that easily. Especially in the light of that second blush.]
That said, I'm sure you're just as aware that embarrassment is far from the only reason people blush. I have options.
[Regis gives Nyx a knowing smile and then steps away so that he can unlock and push open the door to his suite. He motions for the Glaive to enter the room before him and then follows, lingering near the door long enough to hear the lock catch. It's a habit born of necessity; one he doesn't even consciously realize he's doing any longer.]
There are several bottles in the liquor cabinet I suspect you will find quite to your liking. Why don't you pick one while I shed a few more layers? [Without waiting for an answer, Regis makes his way over to the ornate dresser that sits along one wall. He leans his cane against the edge, and then reaches up and carefully removes his crown from where is rests against his temple, settling it with great care into a velvet lined box. The weight of the Crown never completely leaves him, but for the moment it lessens just enough to let him rest. That rest isn't something Regis is guaranteed anymore--hasn't been for some time--and when the opportunity comes, he can't let it pass him by.
Hopefully, Nyx really is as eager to know the man behind the Crown as he believes himself to be.]
Edited (I went back and counted how many times I used the word 'rest' in one paragraph and the answer was TOO MANY. X.x) 2018-11-20 12:16 (UTC)
[Options. Yes, Nyx can think of a few ways he wouldn't mind getting a flush on those absolutely devastating cheekbones.
Liquor wasn't the first thing that came to mind but it was certainly on his list. He doesn't head straight for the cabinet, though. Possibly surprising to Regis, he too hesitates, hovers by the door for confirmation that it's secure. Less familiar with the space he even lays a hand on the door, pushing gently to make sure it is firmly latched.
And then flashing Regis a brief, sheepish smile.]
Galahdians are shameless and Glaives are paranoid, it's an odd mix on the best of days.
[He chuckles a little but it's more to break any awkwardness than actual humor. He'd meant it when he'd said he'd make sure nothing happened to Regis, that applied to more than just the balcony and if they're really going to completely relax the only way he can do that is to ensure the room is as secure as possible before he does something as reckless as drinking.
The liquor cabinet is also not the first place he goes. A cursory lap of the room, checking the windows and doing his best not to make it obvious what he's doing, looking at furniture and paintings in equal measure, whistling softly at the size of the room. Yes, yes look at the poor Galahdian, so impressed by Lucian grandeur. It's a role he's played so well for so long he doesn't even realize he's doing it at first and then, once he has, it'd be so very awkward and strange to stop.]
You have any preferences?
[Now that he's finally meandered his way over to the liquor cabinet. His first instinct is to reach for the darkest bottle in there. A richly spiced honey bourbon from...]
[That sheepish smile is met with an understanding one in return. Even if he weren't prone to doing it himself, Regis has been around people doing it his whole life. It's stranger to be in a room with someone not doing it than the opposite. His own quarters are no exception to this. Clarus' insistence on seeing him there is sometimes more than just because of an overabundance of caution. There have been many nights--after calls that were too close, plots discovered farther along than they should have been even though no one was in danger quite yet, reports of losses too high beyond their reaches--where Regis has allowed his Shield to accompany him back to his rooms and secure them until he was satisfied no matter how long it took. His old friend would not have rested otherwise. Not while there was any doubt in his mind that the one person he had the power to see absolutely safe was.
Nyx is really no different in that respect. The next generation already being weighed down by the same burdens as the previous one.
Regis is glad when Nyx's question draws him out of that cycle of thoughts. In fact, he almost laughs when he turns and sees which bottle the Glaive is asking about.
What a coincidence.]
It is. My favorite in fact. Would you like to give it a try? [While Nyx decides on if he would like to crack open a bottle of his king's favorite or continue exploring the cabinet, Regis sets to work removing his suit jacket and vest, leaving both draped over the dresser, before making his way to the nearby chair and settling into it to begin the tedious process of undoing the many clasps and buckles on his knee brace.]
[There's a flicker of a grin then, surprised and pleased that the first choice he'd reached for also happened to be one of Regis' favorites. He'd call him on trying to humor him but the bottle is low and there's enough wear around the cap that it's clearly been opened repeatedly.
It only takes a moment for him to pour two glasses, just a few fingers each.]
Here, let me.
[The bottle stays out on top of the cabinet, just in case they decide to have more than a single drink, and Nyx crosses back to the armchair Regis has settled himself into. One glass is handed over, a fine spiderweb of crystalline ice spiraling out from where his fingers had been, just enough to chill the glass.
It's the kind of casual careless use of the magic that Pelna is constantly on his case about. As is the flicker of flame that jumps to his fingers as soon as he's settled on the floor in front of Regis. His glass set aside, the fire skitters from his hand to the logs waiting in the grate a few short feet away.]
There we go, just relax.
[And this time he doesn't fight the smile, just shrugging as though he's expecting the concern and the scolding and has heard it a thousand times before. Instead he lays his hands over Regis', seeks out the buckle he was working on so the king can sit back and enjoy his drink and let Nyx deal with the mess of that brace.]
[Regis takes the drink, but just gently swirls the liquor instead of sipping it. His eyes take in the fine web-like lines of frost on the glass before shifting to follow Nyx's fingers and the fire that so naturally leaps from them. By the time those small flames find a new home among the logs, a pleased smile brightens his face while pride dances in his eyes.
Nyx may fear an incoming scolding, but he doesn't realize that is the very last thing he needs to worry about. Regis has always secretly enjoyed seeing the magic he's shared with others used so skillfully. There are no few of his ancestors who've hoarded the magic, citing the drain upon their own health as reason, but Regis has never bought into that line of thought. The Crystal and its magic will drain his life no matter if he hoards its power or shares it. As least sharing will allow him to protect his family and country longer, even if it is through the hands of others instead of with his own.]
It seems the rumors of your talent were not exaggerated. The magic answers your call nearly as easily as it answers mine. If one can honestly ever call such an untamed force 'easily' called. [He finally goes to take a sip from the glass, but pauses, uncomfortable, when Nyx takes over the work of removing his brace, fingers of his empty hand brushing over the Glaive's.]
[It was such a relief not to have the lecture he was expecting come and it showed on his face, in the set of his shoulders, in the way he slumped back with a bemused grin. The fact that praise came with it was even more unexpected and he sat up on his knees in front of Regis once more. This time, at least, there was a soft rug beneath him.]
The king himself listens to barracks gossip?
[It's teasing and he stretches up, hopeful for another kiss.]
Mmm I know I don't need to but you went and got rid of all the superfluous stuff already. So I've gotta have some way of drawing this out.
[His hands move from the brace to the hand that skims over his, drawing it up to brush his lips over Regis' knuckles again, though this time it is decidedly more sensual. Then his fingers slip back, deft and quick as he unfastens the cufflink there. Fingers slip under the open cuff of his shirt, sliding over warm skin, guiding Regis' hand up to his mouth again though this time it's his wrist that gets a lingering kiss.]
You would likely be surprised to know all that a king listens to or, at least, has ears upon. Sometimes the most vital of details can be found in the oddest of places. [And that would probably be creepy if Regis didn't sound so amused. While it's true he has to be very aware of everything that's going on, it's not like there are cameras in the locker rooms or anything. This isn't Niflheim, after all.]
Oh, is that so? Well then, let me offer you my apologies. I didn't mean to deny you your fun.
[Those apologies start in the form of Regis accepting that hopeful kiss and then returning it in kind as he sets aside his untouched glass. Newly freed fingers slide along Nyx's cheek before dropping to trace the line tattooed down his neck. Disappointment flickers in his eyes for a moment when Nyx pulls back, but that look is quickly replaced with fire when the Glaive's attention switches to his wrist. Regis has far too much practice keeping his voice steady for it to break in response to the strong reaction caused by feeling those lips pressed against his pulse, but that doesn't help stop the shiver that runs through his body. It also doesn't stop the faint blush that finally makes its way to his cheeks. He's set aside the crown for the night, Regis keeps reminding himself. It's okay for him to let reactions like this slide. Really.]
[He's focused on what he's doing so he misses the flicker of disappointment but the rush of interest, even if Regis's masterful control of his breathing doesn't give him away, is perfectly clear. Nyx can feel his pulse jump beneath his lips and it makes him part his lips, laving his tongue in a slow broad swipe across delicate skin, tasting the heat there.
There's a sound that's part groan, part hum of satisfaction, all jumbled up in a growl in the back of his throat as he skims teeth over the swell of fragile bone. But he doesn't bite down, doesn't suck or mark no matter how much he wants to. He only kisses and licks and teases, further down along his King's wrist until he is guiding Regis' hand back into his hair, silvered gaze finally flickering up to meet green.]
Instinct?
[A laugh, a smirk, his hand falls to Regis' thigh again and this time the powerful fingers kneading at the muscle are impossible warm, a faint glow like smoldering embers dancing beneath the skin. Not hot enough to burn but warm enough to soothe aching muscles. Another subtle draw of magic, not unlike the chilled glass.]
[Regis' response is soft and somewhat distant. He's obviously distracted, half-open eyes locked on Nyx almost as if he's waiting for something. The Glaive's growl and lips send sparks of heat and electricity up his arm by turns, no magic needed, just those scarily accurate instincts zeroing in on what Regis wants before he even has to say it.
Of course, it seems no instincts can be perfect and that disappointment returns just for an instant when Nyx threads his hand back into his hair. Such a shame, or perhaps it would be if Regis let the moment pass which he has no intention of doing.
His fingers tighten in Nyx's hair, tips pressing firmly into the Glaive's scalp, just enough to hint at the fact he's taking control back. He raises his free hand then, letting his fingers trace over Nyx's lips.]
Here I thought you the type to mark things you have a vested interest in. Was I wrong?
[There's challenge in his eyes, the low tone of his voice. Challenge and invitation.]
[Another, low pleased groan as fingers curl in his hair, his breath coming a little faster, lips parting... And then Regis' fingers are there and his tongue darts out to flicker over his fingertips.
Which turns to a sharp nip at that challenge. His free hand comes up to catch Regis' wrist, holding him firmly, squeezing just a little, holding his hand carefully still. Nyx never looks away from Regis' gaze, his own eyes gone fever bright and hungry.
He nuzzles into Regis' palm, nips hard at the swell of his thumb, dragging teeth over the muscle there. ]
Remember that tomorrow, Majesty.
[A wicked grin, all sharp teeth and primal need and then his other hand comes up to the still fastened sleeve, yanking hard enough to tear the button hole, the cuff link flopping off onto the rug somewhere but it's the last thing Nyx is concerned about because the moment Regis' wrist is bared he's latching on to delicate skin, lower teeth digging in hard over his pulse while the upper set catches just over the edge of that bone. Once his teeth are set he seals his mouth around his King's wrist, sucks hard, slowly increases the pressure of his teeth until he drags a sound out of Regis.
Only then does he finally drop the hand that was holding his sleeve back. It doesn't return to his thigh, though, no... with that challenge in mind he gives up all pretense and subtlety, settling his hand between Regis' legs, rolling the heel of it down gently even as he sucks at his wrist.]
[People often say that the anticipation of an action can be just as good as when the action itself happens, and right now, Regis would be inclined to agree. He could spend the whole night just watching the way the heat moves in Nyx's eyes--wild and untamed--and feeling the drag of the Glaive's teeth over his skin. After so many years of being a channel for the Crystal's magic, so much feels dull in comparison. Sensation especially tends to fade in the face of that constant burn and pull of life in his veins. Few things manage to make themselves known over that, and yet every touch and look Nyx sends his way does. It doesn't surprise Regis in the slightest then, just how quickly Nyx manages to pull a cry from his lips, a breathless sound of approval following.
It also shouldn't surprise him when Nyx throws aside all pretext and takes things a step farther. The movement that Regis catches out of the corner of his eye really gives him no time to prepare, but that is for the best because it keeps him from pulling up the walls he uses to hide his vulnerability behind. The reaction that comes, then is a pure release of need far too long restrained.
His head drops back against the chair as another cry slips free of his lips, his whole body rocking up into Nyx's hand. The fire in the fireplace leaps and roars a moment before settling back to normal size, and as it does, Regis' hand tightens in Nyx's hair once more, pulling the Glaive's head upward. When he speaks, his voice is breathless and low, laced with the closest he will come to an order in a situation like this.]
Get up here.
[The chair is plenty large enough for two, especially if one is kneeling over the other, and that is exactly what Regis has in mind.]
[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.]
[Pain spikes through Regis' arm when Nyx bares down harder, but it's a welcome pain full of warning and promise, so different from the pain that usually is his companion. Astrals, he shouldn't find this as much of a turn on as he does, but having people challenge him so rarely happens, even when he asks for such things to make sure he's considering every angle he should be. Only Clarus regularly does so and that's because it's his job to. It's a completely different thing.
The council likes to challenge him as well, but that doesn't count all things considered, and he hardly wants to think about those old fools at a time like this.
Disappointment and amusement war in his expression for a moment before the amusement wins out. Regis leans forward when Nyx leans over him, but it's not to chase a kiss. Instead, he's meeting that challenging looking on a level playing field, wordlessly daring the Glaive to do his worst. A dare Nyx seems to take and run with when he steps away all bravado and bite.
Honestly, it's completely unfair how good the attitude looks on him.
A polite request is what wants, hmm? Regis considers the request and as he does, he pulls himself up in the chair, resting his arms on the arm rests and lacing his fingers together. When his eyes catch the darkening mark on his wrist, he can't help feel the initial thrill all over again.
A 'please' is hardly worth all this promises to be. No, Nyx deserves more than that and Regis knows exactly where he is going to start with that which is why, when he speaks, it's not in Lucian, but something a fair bit older.]
Ah, there is the beautiful coeurl I've heard so much of. This dragon's not used to bowing his head, but how can one not in the face of such fierce beauty? If it is a 'please' you want, then you need only ask.
[And, true to his word, Regis does bow his head slight, spreading his hands before him.]
Please, grace this old soul with your beauty. He's been alone far too long.
[Watching Regis collect himself, draw up to his full height and the same regal posture he knows so well Nyx has a fleeting moment of wondering if he'd over stepped. If, perhaps, he'd gone too far with his reckless challenge. But there's still that glint in those breathtaking green eyes and he doesn't let himself show that moment of uncertainty.
Then Regis speaks this time it's not the fire that surges but the air between them sparks with electricity, a flickering glow up the creeping lines of scarring that curl up Nyx's neck, pale eyes flashing with the reflection of violet power. His breath goes still in his chest and for a moment all he can taste is ozone, the sound of the power, the fire, everything else fading into the meaningless background noise as his King speaks in the sharp staccato of his people's tongue.
His own team mates cannot recall the language so neatly most of the time and the fact that this proud Lucian king not only knows it but is complimenting him, politely asking Nyx to ruin him, is enough to have him crossing the space between them again with an urgency that hadn't been there a moment before.
He peels his tee off with one hand as he goes, tossing it carelessly aside, and when he reaches the chair one knee is wedged between Regis and the arm immediately. Hands tangle in silvered hair, static sparking between them as Nyx reclaims the other man's mouth, the kiss hard and demanding. It takes a long moment for him to drag himself away from Regis' mouth and when he does the words he murmurs are eager and hungry and certainly unfit for a royal to have learned.]
Vilg dryd'c rud. Keep talking.
[He settles himself more firmly into the chair, over Regis' lap, any concern he might have had for the older man's bad leg burned away the second he started speaking. A little squirming, dragging his mouth away, down the length of Regis' throat, growling against the skin when the collar of his shirt brushes against his cheek. Nyx yanks his hands out of Regis' hair, static making the strands fly away haphazardly, only to curl them in the front of his shirt, yanking hard to part the fabric, buttons snapping from their holes and joining the lost cuff link on the floor.
Mmm, feels more electric than hot to me, but who's keeping track?
[That is probably not what Nyx was expecting when he asked Regis to keep speaking, but it does prove one thing very definitely--the polite and proper Lucian King below him knows full well what he said. He was a much younger man when he learned the language, after all. There are a great many phrases he learned purely for the fun of it, and perhaps, so his tutors could take pride in the fact they had taught him such things.
Had Mors ever found out, he would have had them exiled if not worse. It's a good thing he never found out.
The laugh that starts to follow that statement gets swallowed by Nyx's kiss, transforming into a low growl at the back of his throat as he meets every bit of Nyx's demanding with his own. He doesn't even give the state of his shirt a second thought because he's finally got the Glaive close enough to get his hands on. Fingers trace over the network of scarring that marks Nyx's chest and for a moment, Regis can't help but feel pained knowing the how badly the Crystal's magic has already marred the young man. There's a strange sort of kinship he feels too, for his knows they share this; his own chest is marred even worse. The price of power, even as freely given as it is.
He turns his head, bringing his mouth nearer to Nyx's ear. When he speaks, his voice is more breathless than before, but his control of the language isn't hindered by it or by the fact that his attention is split as his hands slide down across Nyx's ribs and up his back, fingers carefully mapping out every scar as they come across them.]
What will you have me say, my wild one? Shall I tell you how honored I am that one so untamed would waste even a moment for another locked away in a cage of his own making? Shall I explain how watching you makes me feel more alive than I have in years? Do you have any idea how relieved I am we arrived in time to keep you from slipping away from this world? [Regis pauses then, moving just enough so he can press his lips to the edge of Nyx's ear.]
Or, perhaps I should leave the pretty words behind and speak of things decidedly less pure?
[Nyx writhes in Regis' lap,trying to arch into every touch, press up into those hands as they slide over his body. Each firm touch dragging a rough gasp from the younger man, pressing the sounds into Regis' skin.
For a moment Nyx wonders how the hell his king can make full sentences like that, eloquent and practiced if a little breathless. It's unfair, the control he has. It could be age but Nyx is pretty sure given another twenty years he still wouldn't be so composed, certainly not with an eager young thing in his lap.
Which is as much a challenge as the words and looks earlier had been.
Nyx's hands smooth down Regis' chest, fingers confident and unafraid of the scars that sprawl there, deeper and more elaborate than his own but it shows that the king favors his left side too, the web of lines marching up his neck, down his shoulder.]
You can do the pretty shit later.
[Low and rough, murmured against his collarbone before there's a series of sharp nips up along his collar, all the way up to his throat. Nyx lays himself forward, chest to chest, reveling in the heat of the other man and shifting so he can roll his hips down against him, the movement smooth and almost unnatural as though he were not entirely human at all but carried the coeurl's same fluid grace and flexible spine.]
Fuck. Regis...
[The movement is enough to have his breath leaving him in a sharp whine that he muffles against Regis' throat, teeth going to work on a very different pulse point this time.]
[The restraint has its advantages sometimes. Not long ago Regis had been ready to give in with abandon, but then Nyx gave him that moment to gather himself and now he's enjoying watching the Glaive come to pieces far too much to give in again so soon. Oh sure, there is only so much even his restraint can handle--already those exploring fingers are pressing him close to the edge again--but until he's pushed over, Regis intends on making the most of this.
His hands slide back down Nyx's back resting first on his hips, then drifting lower before he pulls the Glaive as close to him as he can, rolling up to meet his motion and holding him there. Regis might not have the flexibility that Nyx has, but he does still has some strength at his disposal.]
And what if I want to do the pretty little shit now? [It takes a second to judge the leverage he needs to shift them, but then Regis slides to the side enough that he can finally set his mouth against Nyx's skin, pressing lips and then teeth against the area where his collarbone meets his shoulder. When he pulls back a moment later, it is only to make a request before setting back to work.]
Stop muffling yourself. I want to hear your roars.
[Hands on his hips are nice and encouraging. Hands on his ass, gripping him firmly and holding him in place have him snarling slightly against Regis' throat, back arching, body rolling in that grip to fight the restraint. Not that he wants the other man to let go but he can't help but move, arching and gasping and biting sharply at the tender skin behind his ear.]
Then I need to get my pants off.
[Breathless but much of the teasing is gone, replaced with need and the dramatic reactions to every bit of sensation he gets. The heat of Regis' mouth on his shoulder, the gentle scratch of beard against his skin, the spike of heat the words send through him. It all has him squirming, pressing purposefully down against Regis' groin but also trying to push up towards his mouth in the same breath. Breaths that come faster and harder.]
Sure your -Shit tha's good- guard won't be... worried?
[But even as he asks it he's surrendered the grip on Regis' throat, head falling back as he rocks down, hands splayed over the king's chest. His fingers press hard into the muscle there then slide down, blunt nails snagging at the ridges of scars, down to his sides where pain and disuse has softened the edges of what had once been a powerful build. His nails bite harder, a sharp sting against the softer skin of his sides, below his ribs, anchoring himself as he moves and offers the full span of his chest to Regis' mouth.]
[The smirk that accompanies those words is clear in both tone and on the lips that press into Nyx's skin. Regis does move his hands, fingers dipping under the waistband of the Glaive's pants, but he makes no real move to remove them. Instead, he lets himself savor the feel of the fingers that explore his chest and scrape down his sides. There's no attempt to hold back groan or the shiver the sensation draws from him; once more he's quickly being reduced to mess of reactions all wishing to come out at once after being bottled up for so long.]
The guards have very specific instructions for what they are and are not to acknowledge hearing, and they have held their positions for some time. I have no worries about their ability to hold their tongues.
[Regis chuckles softly as his mouth begins following the scars that cover so much of Nyx's chest, paying close attention to each, burning them into his memory.]
Quite honestly, they will probably be too busy dividing up bet winnings with each other to care about much else. [Is Regis aware of the fact his guards have a betting pool about if he will ever take a lover again and who it might be? Of course he is and has found himself quite amused by the antics over the years. For a split second, he can't help but wonder who came closest to predicting this particular outcome and by what odds he will be winning, then his attention is pulled back to where it should be, teeth scraping sharply over the nipple his explorations have led him to.]
[For one hopeful moment he thinks that Regis might actually be planning to help him wriggle out of his pants, the dark denim tight and uncomfortable by now. But no, of course this infuriating man only teases, grips at him with those strong fingers on skin now and Nyx groans at the feeling.
The trailing heat of Regis' mouth over his chest only has his nails digging in harder, scrabbling for purchase on the other man's sides, his nails trimmed down so close he barely has enough to hold onto him with. Especially skimming over the fine web of scars that spark and burn with the sensations, blue-violet light dancing under his skin, the glow of magic drawn up from within him to answer each touch.
He starts to laugh, breathless and overwhelmed.]
Least 'm making someone a prof- AH!
[He doesn't need the request from Regis, teeth scrape over his nipple and he's already crying out, arching into it. One hand drops from Regis' side to slam into his hair again, the electricity burning through the air making the touch crackle loudly before he finds purchase, pulling hard, holding Regis' mouth against his chest as best he can.]
Fuck Reg- swear to gods...
[It's possibly a little awkward, holding Regis to his chest while he's panting and breathless and also still rocking in his lap. Only to get moreso when his other hand slips away from Regis' side to drop down to his own pants, twisting his hand to undo the button and try to find enough space to shimmy the zip down.]
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hardbargain) wrote2018-11-08 08:23 pm
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Between that and the prickle of magic on the air there's part of Nyx that wants to push up against him, crawl into his lap, over him, devour him right here on the balcony. Heat sings through his blood, fingers flexing against Regis' leg, forcibly stilling himself from pushing too hard, too fast.
And then Regis draws back, speaks against his lips and Nyx has to grit his teeth so he doesn't snap at him, latch onto his lip with teeth and do something that would be far too noticeable come morning.]
Oh? This bothering your back already, old man?
[It'd be a more convincing challenge if he weren't already so breathless, if the hand on Regis' thigh weren't already going back to kneading and this time creeping a little higher. But if Regis is going to keep playing up the age difference then Nyx is damn well going to give him shit for it.
And maybe, just maybe, there's something arousing about that too. Shit, he's got it bad.]
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What a cheeky thing you are once you've gotten what you want.
[Like he didn't already know that going into this.]
See if I worry about the state of your knees again.
[The threat is an empty one, betrayed thoroughly by the fondness in Regis' eyes and the gentleness of the fingers that comes to rest against Nyx's cheek.]
It pains me that you have to hold back for my sake, though I cannot thank you enough for doing it.
[Regis' free hand finds the one that is so bravely creeping up his leg and brings it to his lips, so he can press a kiss to it.]
I will make it worth your wait. Come. Lets move this to my quarters so we both can relax and worry not about who might come across us.
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[How could you expect anything other than sass and fight from this man, Regis. You know better. Still he smiles, presses into the hand on his cheek and rolls his eyes at the comment about his restraint. Way to make him sound desperate, Regis.
It isn't until Regis has stopped his hand and drawn it up that he even realizes how far it had crept without his notice or permission.]
Ah... yeah. Probably a good idea.
[Nyx has the decency to blush a little. He doesn't want Regis to have to maintain this fog for too long and he does want the other man to be comfortable, regardless of all the teasing. He shifts back onto his heels, rolls smoothly back to his feet. A moment to lean over Regis, capturing his lips for one more kiss before he steps away. It takes only a moment for him to collect the fallen cane, but even though he has it he offers Regis his arm to brace against as he stands instead of that heavy walking stick.]
Come on, Majesty. I've got you.
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[Despite his best efforts, there's a regret-tinged sadness that makes it way into Regis' eyes. He hides it by shifting his gaze from Nyx to where his dress cape rests discarded a chair over, slightly out of his reach. The last thing he wants to do is ask Nyx to retrieve it for him. The Glaive is already catering to him more than he should have to. He may be a servant of the Crown, but this type of service is far below him.
With a sharp flick of his hand, Regis accesses the Armiger and the cape disappears with a soft crystalline crackle. He draws a slow measured breath to beat back the rush of exhaustion that follows. It's been growing harder to access the Armiger lately--just one more reason he has no more place on the battlefield--and he may regret that action later when he has to spend time fishing to find the cape again, but for now the matter has been taken care of.
Once he's sure his energy level has stabilized, Regis draws himself up from the chair, doing his best to ignore the protests of his back and leg. If the only immediate consequence he has to deal with from that bit of frivolous magic is having to lean a little heavier on Nyx's arm than he would prefer, he's not going to complain. Instead, once they've finally started toward his rooms, he tilts his head in the Glaive's direction nearly whispering in his ear.]
You blush rather fetchingly. I'm going to have to see that it happens more often.
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So he lets Regis lean into him and when the older man shifts ever so slightly to murmur in his ear Nyx lets his arm shift from directly under Regis' hand to sliding around his waist. It leaves them pressed lightly against each other from hip to shoulder and that alone is enough to have Nyx humming a soft contented sigh.
He laughs at the words though, sharp and bright and perhaps more bravado than he wants to admit.]
Blush? C'mon, sir. You know Galahdians are shameless, you'll have to do better than that.
[Ah but there go his cheeks betraying him again.]
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[The amusement that brightens Regis' pale green eyes really should warn Nyx that he's not getting off that easily. Especially in the light of that second blush.]
That said, I'm sure you're just as aware that embarrassment is far from the only reason people blush. I have options.
[Regis gives Nyx a knowing smile and then steps away so that he can unlock and push open the door to his suite. He motions for the Glaive to enter the room before him and then follows, lingering near the door long enough to hear the lock catch. It's a habit born of necessity; one he doesn't even consciously realize he's doing any longer.]
There are several bottles in the liquor cabinet I suspect you will find quite to your liking. Why don't you pick one while I shed a few more layers?
[Without waiting for an answer, Regis makes his way over to the ornate dresser that sits along one wall. He leans his cane against the edge, and then reaches up and carefully removes his crown from where is rests against his temple, settling it with great care into a velvet lined box. The weight of the Crown never completely leaves him, but for the moment it lessens just enough to let him rest. That rest isn't something Regis is guaranteed anymore--hasn't been for some time--and when the opportunity comes, he can't let it pass him by.
Hopefully, Nyx really is as eager to know the man behind the Crown as he believes himself to be.]
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Liquor wasn't the first thing that came to mind but it was certainly on his list. He doesn't head straight for the cabinet, though. Possibly surprising to Regis, he too hesitates, hovers by the door for confirmation that it's secure. Less familiar with the space he even lays a hand on the door, pushing gently to make sure it is firmly latched.
And then flashing Regis a brief, sheepish smile.]
Galahdians are shameless and Glaives are paranoid, it's an odd mix on the best of days.
[He chuckles a little but it's more to break any awkwardness than actual humor. He'd meant it when he'd said he'd make sure nothing happened to Regis, that applied to more than just the balcony and if they're really going to completely relax the only way he can do that is to ensure the room is as secure as possible before he does something as reckless as drinking.
The liquor cabinet is also not the first place he goes. A cursory lap of the room, checking the windows and doing his best not to make it obvious what he's doing, looking at furniture and paintings in equal measure, whistling softly at the size of the room. Yes, yes look at the poor Galahdian, so impressed by Lucian grandeur. It's a role he's played so well for so long he doesn't even realize he's doing it at first and then, once he has, it'd be so very awkward and strange to stop.]
You have any preferences?
[Now that he's finally meandered his way over to the liquor cabinet. His first instinct is to reach for the darkest bottle in there. A richly spiced honey bourbon from...]
Is this Tenebraen?
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Nyx is really no different in that respect. The next generation already being weighed down by the same burdens as the previous one.
Regis is glad when Nyx's question draws him out of that cycle of thoughts. In fact, he almost laughs when he turns and sees which bottle the Glaive is asking about.
What a coincidence.]
It is. My favorite in fact. Would you like to give it a try?
[While Nyx decides on if he would like to crack open a bottle of his king's favorite or continue exploring the cabinet, Regis sets to work removing his suit jacket and vest, leaving both draped over the dresser, before making his way to the nearby chair and settling into it to begin the tedious process of undoing the many clasps and buckles on his knee brace.]
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It only takes a moment for him to pour two glasses, just a few fingers each.]
Here, let me.
[The bottle stays out on top of the cabinet, just in case they decide to have more than a single drink, and Nyx crosses back to the armchair Regis has settled himself into. One glass is handed over, a fine spiderweb of crystalline ice spiraling out from where his fingers had been, just enough to chill the glass.
It's the kind of casual careless use of the magic that Pelna is constantly on his case about. As is the flicker of flame that jumps to his fingers as soon as he's settled on the floor in front of Regis. His glass set aside, the fire skitters from his hand to the logs waiting in the grate a few short feet away.]
There we go, just relax.
[And this time he doesn't fight the smile, just shrugging as though he's expecting the concern and the scolding and has heard it a thousand times before. Instead he lays his hands over Regis', seeks out the buckle he was working on so the king can sit back and enjoy his drink and let Nyx deal with the mess of that brace.]
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Nyx may fear an incoming scolding, but he doesn't realize that is the very last thing he needs to worry about. Regis has always secretly enjoyed seeing the magic he's shared with others used so skillfully. There are no few of his ancestors who've hoarded the magic, citing the drain upon their own health as reason, but Regis has never bought into that line of thought. The Crystal and its magic will drain his life no matter if he hoards its power or shares it. As least sharing will allow him to protect his family and country longer, even if it is through the hands of others instead of with his own.]
It seems the rumors of your talent were not exaggerated. The magic answers your call nearly as easily as it answers mine. If one can honestly ever call such an untamed force 'easily' called.
[He finally goes to take a sip from the glass, but pauses, uncomfortable, when Nyx takes over the work of removing his brace, fingers of his empty hand brushing over the Glaive's.]
You realize you don't need to do that.
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The king himself listens to barracks gossip?
[It's teasing and he stretches up, hopeful for another kiss.]
Mmm I know I don't need to but you went and got rid of all the superfluous stuff already. So I've gotta have some way of drawing this out.
[His hands move from the brace to the hand that skims over his, drawing it up to brush his lips over Regis' knuckles again, though this time it is decidedly more sensual. Then his fingers slip back, deft and quick as he unfastens the cufflink there. Fingers slip under the open cuff of his shirt, sliding over warm skin, guiding Regis' hand up to his mouth again though this time it's his wrist that gets a lingering kiss.]
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[And that would probably be creepy if Regis didn't sound so amused. While it's true he has to be very aware of everything that's going on, it's not like there are cameras in the locker rooms or anything. This isn't Niflheim, after all.]
Oh, is that so? Well then, let me offer you my apologies. I didn't mean to deny you your fun.
[Those apologies start in the form of Regis accepting that hopeful kiss and then returning it in kind as he sets aside his untouched glass. Newly freed fingers slide along Nyx's cheek before dropping to trace the line tattooed down his neck. Disappointment flickers in his eyes for a moment when Nyx pulls back, but that look is quickly replaced with fire when the Glaive's attention switches to his wrist. Regis has far too much practice keeping his voice steady for it to break in response to the strong reaction caused by feeling those lips pressed against his pulse, but that doesn't help stop the shiver that runs through his body. It also doesn't stop the faint blush that finally makes its way to his cheeks. He's set aside the crown for the night, Regis keeps reminding himself. It's okay for him to let reactions like this slide. Really.]
How do you know so well what to do?
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There's a sound that's part groan, part hum of satisfaction, all jumbled up in a growl in the back of his throat as he skims teeth over the swell of fragile bone. But he doesn't bite down, doesn't suck or mark no matter how much he wants to. He only kisses and licks and teases, further down along his King's wrist until he is guiding Regis' hand back into his hair, silvered gaze finally flickering up to meet green.]
Instinct?
[A laugh, a smirk, his hand falls to Regis' thigh again and this time the powerful fingers kneading at the muscle are impossible warm, a faint glow like smoldering embers dancing beneath the skin. Not hot enough to burn but warm enough to soothe aching muscles. Another subtle draw of magic, not unlike the chilled glass.]
Same way I do this.
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[Regis' response is soft and somewhat distant. He's obviously distracted, half-open eyes locked on Nyx almost as if he's waiting for something. The Glaive's growl and lips send sparks of heat and electricity up his arm by turns, no magic needed, just those scarily accurate instincts zeroing in on what Regis wants before he even has to say it.
Of course, it seems no instincts can be perfect and that disappointment returns just for an instant when Nyx threads his hand back into his hair. Such a shame, or perhaps it would be if Regis let the moment pass which he has no intention of doing.
His fingers tighten in Nyx's hair, tips pressing firmly into the Glaive's scalp, just enough to hint at the fact he's taking control back. He raises his free hand then, letting his fingers trace over Nyx's lips.]
Here I thought you the type to mark things you have a vested interest in. Was I wrong?
[There's challenge in his eyes, the low tone of his voice. Challenge and invitation.]
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Which turns to a sharp nip at that challenge. His free hand comes up to catch Regis' wrist, holding him firmly, squeezing just a little, holding his hand carefully still. Nyx never looks away from Regis' gaze, his own eyes gone fever bright and hungry.
He nuzzles into Regis' palm, nips hard at the swell of his thumb, dragging teeth over the muscle there. ]
Remember that tomorrow, Majesty.
[A wicked grin, all sharp teeth and primal need and then his other hand comes up to the still fastened sleeve, yanking hard enough to tear the button hole, the cuff link flopping off onto the rug somewhere but it's the last thing Nyx is concerned about because the moment Regis' wrist is bared he's latching on to delicate skin, lower teeth digging in hard over his pulse while the upper set catches just over the edge of that bone. Once his teeth are set he seals his mouth around his King's wrist, sucks hard, slowly increases the pressure of his teeth until he drags a sound out of Regis.
Only then does he finally drop the hand that was holding his sleeve back. It doesn't return to his thigh, though, no... with that challenge in mind he gives up all pretense and subtlety, settling his hand between Regis' legs, rolling the heel of it down gently even as he sucks at his wrist.]
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[People often say that the anticipation of an action can be just as good as when the action itself happens, and right now, Regis would be inclined to agree. He could spend the whole night just watching the way the heat moves in Nyx's eyes--wild and untamed--and feeling the drag of the Glaive's teeth over his skin. After so many years of being a channel for the Crystal's magic, so much feels dull in comparison. Sensation especially tends to fade in the face of that constant burn and pull of life in his veins. Few things manage to make themselves known over that, and yet every touch and look Nyx sends his way does. It doesn't surprise Regis in the slightest then, just how quickly Nyx manages to pull a cry from his lips, a breathless sound of approval following.
It also shouldn't surprise him when Nyx throws aside all pretext and takes things a step farther. The movement that Regis catches out of the corner of his eye really gives him no time to prepare, but that is for the best because it keeps him from pulling up the walls he uses to hide his vulnerability behind. The reaction that comes, then is a pure release of need far too long restrained.
His head drops back against the chair as another cry slips free of his lips, his whole body rocking up into Nyx's hand. The fire in the fireplace leaps and roars a moment before settling back to normal size, and as it does, Regis' hand tightens in Nyx's hair once more, pulling the Glaive's head upward. When he speaks, his voice is breathless and low, laced with the closest he will come to an order in a situation like this.]
Get up here.
[The chair is plenty large enough for two, especially if one is kneeling over the other, and that is exactly what Regis has in mind.]
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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.]
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The council likes to challenge him as well, but that doesn't count all things considered, and he hardly wants to think about those old fools at a time like this.
Disappointment and amusement war in his expression for a moment before the amusement wins out. Regis leans forward when Nyx leans over him, but it's not to chase a kiss. Instead, he's meeting that challenging looking on a level playing field, wordlessly daring the Glaive to do his worst. A dare Nyx seems to take and run with when he steps away all bravado and bite.
Honestly, it's completely unfair how good the attitude looks on him.
A polite request is what wants, hmm? Regis considers the request and as he does, he pulls himself up in the chair, resting his arms on the arm rests and lacing his fingers together. When his eyes catch the darkening mark on his wrist, he can't help feel the initial thrill all over again.
A 'please' is hardly worth all this promises to be. No, Nyx deserves more than that and Regis knows exactly where he is going to start with that which is why, when he speaks, it's not in Lucian, but something a fair bit older.]
Ah, there is the beautiful coeurl I've heard so much of. This dragon's not used to bowing his head, but how can one not in the face of such fierce beauty? If it is a 'please' you want, then you need only ask.
[And, true to his word, Regis does bow his head slight, spreading his hands before him.]
Please, grace this old soul with your beauty. He's been alone far too long.
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Then Regis speaks this time it's not the fire that surges but the air between them sparks with electricity, a flickering glow up the creeping lines of scarring that curl up Nyx's neck, pale eyes flashing with the reflection of violet power. His breath goes still in his chest and for a moment all he can taste is ozone, the sound of the power, the fire, everything else fading into the meaningless background noise as his King speaks in the sharp staccato of his people's tongue.
His own team mates cannot recall the language so neatly most of the time and the fact that this proud Lucian king not only knows it but is complimenting him, politely asking Nyx to ruin him, is enough to have him crossing the space between them again with an urgency that hadn't been there a moment before.
He peels his tee off with one hand as he goes, tossing it carelessly aside, and when he reaches the chair one knee is wedged between Regis and the arm immediately. Hands tangle in silvered hair, static sparking between them as Nyx reclaims the other man's mouth, the kiss hard and demanding. It takes a long moment for him to drag himself away from Regis' mouth and when he does the words he murmurs are eager and hungry and certainly unfit for a royal to have learned.]
Vilg dryd'c rud. Keep talking.
[He settles himself more firmly into the chair, over Regis' lap, any concern he might have had for the older man's bad leg burned away the second he started speaking. A little squirming, dragging his mouth away, down the length of Regis' throat, growling against the skin when the collar of his shirt brushes against his cheek. Nyx yanks his hands out of Regis' hair, static making the strands fly away haphazardly, only to curl them in the front of his shirt, yanking hard to part the fabric, buttons snapping from their holes and joining the lost cuff link on the floor.
Surely the king can afford to lose one shirt.]
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[That is probably not what Nyx was expecting when he asked Regis to keep speaking, but it does prove one thing very definitely--the polite and proper Lucian King below him knows full well what he said. He was a much younger man when he learned the language, after all. There are a great many phrases he learned purely for the fun of it, and perhaps, so his tutors could take pride in the fact they had taught him such things.
Had Mors ever found out, he would have had them exiled if not worse. It's a good thing he never found out.
The laugh that starts to follow that statement gets swallowed by Nyx's kiss, transforming into a low growl at the back of his throat as he meets every bit of Nyx's demanding with his own. He doesn't even give the state of his shirt a second thought because he's finally got the Glaive close enough to get his hands on. Fingers trace over the network of scarring that marks Nyx's chest and for a moment, Regis can't help but feel pained knowing the how badly the Crystal's magic has already marred the young man. There's a strange sort of kinship he feels too, for his knows they share this; his own chest is marred even worse. The price of power, even as freely given as it is.
He turns his head, bringing his mouth nearer to Nyx's ear. When he speaks, his voice is more breathless than before, but his control of the language isn't hindered by it or by the fact that his attention is split as his hands slide down across Nyx's ribs and up his back, fingers carefully mapping out every scar as they come across them.]
What will you have me say, my wild one? Shall I tell you how honored I am that one so untamed would waste even a moment for another locked away in a cage of his own making? Shall I explain how watching you makes me feel more alive than I have in years? Do you have any idea how relieved I am we arrived in time to keep you from slipping away from this world?
[Regis pauses then, moving just enough so he can press his lips to the edge of Nyx's ear.]
Or, perhaps I should leave the pretty words behind and speak of things decidedly less pure?
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For a moment Nyx wonders how the hell his king can make full sentences like that, eloquent and practiced if a little breathless. It's unfair, the control he has. It could be age but Nyx is pretty sure given another twenty years he still wouldn't be so composed, certainly not with an eager young thing in his lap.
Which is as much a challenge as the words and looks earlier had been.
Nyx's hands smooth down Regis' chest, fingers confident and unafraid of the scars that sprawl there, deeper and more elaborate than his own but it shows that the king favors his left side too, the web of lines marching up his neck, down his shoulder.]
You can do the pretty shit later.
[Low and rough, murmured against his collarbone before there's a series of sharp nips up along his collar, all the way up to his throat. Nyx lays himself forward, chest to chest, reveling in the heat of the other man and shifting so he can roll his hips down against him, the movement smooth and almost unnatural as though he were not entirely human at all but carried the coeurl's same fluid grace and flexible spine.]
Fuck. Regis...
[The movement is enough to have his breath leaving him in a sharp whine that he muffles against Regis' throat, teeth going to work on a very different pulse point this time.]
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His hands slide back down Nyx's back resting first on his hips, then drifting lower before he pulls the Glaive as close to him as he can, rolling up to meet his motion and holding him there. Regis might not have the flexibility that Nyx has, but he does still has some strength at his disposal.]
And what if I want to do the pretty little shit now?
[It takes a second to judge the leverage he needs to shift them, but then Regis slides to the side enough that he can finally set his mouth against Nyx's skin, pressing lips and then teeth against the area where his collarbone meets his shoulder. When he pulls back a moment later, it is only to make a request before setting back to work.]
Stop muffling yourself. I want to hear your roars.
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Then I need to get my pants off.
[Breathless but much of the teasing is gone, replaced with need and the dramatic reactions to every bit of sensation he gets. The heat of Regis' mouth on his shoulder, the gentle scratch of beard against his skin, the spike of heat the words send through him. It all has him squirming, pressing purposefully down against Regis' groin but also trying to push up towards his mouth in the same breath. Breaths that come faster and harder.]
Sure your -Shit tha's good- guard won't be... worried?
[But even as he asks it he's surrendered the grip on Regis' throat, head falling back as he rocks down, hands splayed over the king's chest. His fingers press hard into the muscle there then slide down, blunt nails snagging at the ridges of scars, down to his sides where pain and disuse has softened the edges of what had once been a powerful build. His nails bite harder, a sharp sting against the softer skin of his sides, below his ribs, anchoring himself as he moves and offers the full span of his chest to Regis' mouth.]
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[The smirk that accompanies those words is clear in both tone and on the lips that press into Nyx's skin. Regis does move his hands, fingers dipping under the waistband of the Glaive's pants, but he makes no real move to remove them. Instead, he lets himself savor the feel of the fingers that explore his chest and scrape down his sides. There's no attempt to hold back groan or the shiver the sensation draws from him; once more he's quickly being reduced to mess of reactions all wishing to come out at once after being bottled up for so long.]
The guards have very specific instructions for what they are and are not to acknowledge hearing, and they have held their positions for some time. I have no worries about their ability to hold their tongues.
[Regis chuckles softly as his mouth begins following the scars that cover so much of Nyx's chest, paying close attention to each, burning them into his memory.]
Quite honestly, they will probably be too busy dividing up bet winnings with each other to care about much else.
[Is Regis aware of the fact his guards have a betting pool about if he will ever take a lover again and who it might be? Of course he is and has found himself quite amused by the antics over the years. For a split second, he can't help but wonder who came closest to predicting this particular outcome and by what odds he will be winning, then his attention is pulled back to where it should be, teeth scraping sharply over the nipple his explorations have led him to.]
Howl for me, Wild One.
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The trailing heat of Regis' mouth over his chest only has his nails digging in harder, scrabbling for purchase on the other man's sides, his nails trimmed down so close he barely has enough to hold onto him with. Especially skimming over the fine web of scars that spark and burn with the sensations, blue-violet light dancing under his skin, the glow of magic drawn up from within him to answer each touch.
He starts to laugh, breathless and overwhelmed.]
Least 'm making someone a prof- AH!
[He doesn't need the request from Regis, teeth scrape over his nipple and he's already crying out, arching into it. One hand drops from Regis' side to slam into his hair again, the electricity burning through the air making the touch crackle loudly before he finds purchase, pulling hard, holding Regis' mouth against his chest as best he can.]
Fuck Reg- swear to gods...
[It's possibly a little awkward, holding Regis to his chest while he's panting and breathless and also still rocking in his lap. Only to get moreso when his other hand slips away from Regis' side to drop down to his own pants, twisting his hand to undo the button and try to find enough space to shimmy the zip down.]
If you're not gonna-
Welp, since Someone's finally decided to commit better get a [SMUT WARNING] on this!
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