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.]
If you're not gonna-
Welp, since Someone's finally decided to commit better get a [SMUT WARNING] on this!
[The growl that leaves Regis' throat in response to Nyx's cries is nearly as loud as those cries themselves. The wild heat filling every part of his body is as unfamiliar as it is welcome, electricity crackling along the edges, a storm as dangerous as it is enticing.
For the moment, his focus remains on nipple that had pulled such delightful reactions from the Glaive on his lap. In the back of his mind, Regis can't help but wonder if Nyx is just this sensitive, or if--and this is his pride speaking--he's got a fair bit to do with that. Whatever the answer, he seals his mouth over the nub, sucking, tongue and teeth teasing with as much force as the Glaive had teased his wrist with earlier. He only releases his hold when he feels Nyx drop his hand down to his pants, scrambling to get them open.]
Here, here. I've got you. [His breath slides over damp skin as he shifts so he can bring one of his hands between them, nudging Nyx's away as he has a better angle to help with this particular troublesome issue. It's just a matter of a few seconds to deal with the zipper, but Regis is hardly ready to stop there. He may be a tease, but he's not that guy.
Not that he thinks Nyx needs any encouragement to wiggle out of his pants, but just in case, Regis tucks his fingers under the material to help slide it down far enough to free the Glaive's cock. Fire flashes in Regis' eyes and Nyx will find the fingers that close around him are slightly, though not uncomfortably, warmer than usual. The touches start gentle, but by the time his fingers reach the tip, the strokes are firmer and more confident before he twists his hand to start back up the shaft.]
[If Regis continues mauling his chest he will find that it's a bit of a combination of the two. Because the right side is not nearly so sensitive but, just as the heat of his mouth over those scars on the left side of his chest got an elevated reaction so too does the nipple on that side. Everything hypersensitive where the magic flickers so close to the skin. Something that is very clear as Regis works his teeth over the nub, drawing cries and curses from Nyx.
When the king finally pulls away enough to murmur against his chest Nyx is panting, sharp heavy breaths and his gaze gone distant and foggy with pleasure when he finally lifts his head to look down on the other man. The fingers in Regis' hair slowly uncurl a little, shifting his grip down to brace himself against the back of his neck, the top of one shoulder. He watches Regis' deft hands unfasten his pants and grinning something wild and feral at the heat in his king's gaze.]
Yeah... you got me.
[Muttered breathlessly and it's only after he's said it that the deeper implications of the words really register in his brain. Oh... oh.
But it's true isn't it? Wasn't that precisely why he'd come here? What had gotten them to this point in the first place. Nyx was utterly captivated by the man beneath him and every moment they've spent together in private has only validated all the curiosities and hopes and longings he's been harboring for years now.
Yeah, he's belonged to the Crown for nearly a decade but now, finally, he belongs to Regis. As much as a wild creature can belong to anyone.
There's a moment there where he thinks he should say something else, something more. Either to laugh it off or make it more than it was. But then Regis' hands are pulling his pants down around his thighs, strong fingers wrap around him and he's lost again. Another sharp cry, his voice already starting to go rough as he bucks up into Regis' hand.
His head falls back, he arches... and it's only the anchoring grip of his arm across Regis' shoulder that keeps him from tumbling backwards of his lap. A huff of breath that's nearly a laugh and then Nyx drags himself forward again, fingers catching at silvered hair to yank Regis' head back, crashing his lips to the king's, leaning into his grip and bringing the hand that's free now up to latch onto the top of the chair back. Suddenly he's so grateful for the Lucian decadence that gives him such a sturdy hand hold and the leverage to move his hips against both the hand working him so skillfully and the swell of Regis beneath him.]
[The silence that comes after that statement is unexpected. Regis waits several moments for some kind of smart, if breathless, comment to soften the deeper meaning that lies behind those words, but when it doesn't come, he pauses, looking up to take in Nyx's expression. The need is still there, but something else darkens those pale eyes. A realization, perhaps. Good, but something the Glaive hadn't been expecting. It causes Regis to pause in his actions, leaning up to press a much gentler kiss to Nyx's lips, fondness breaking through the heat in his own gaze.]
Forever. [The word is exhaled more than spoken against Nyx's lips and then Regis returns to his previous actions, the kiss that follows once more intense. He doesn't want to let Nyx fall too far into his own mind right now. Not when the Glaive has done so much to keep him out of his own.
When he sets his fingers back to work, the touch is firmer and this time he lets his fingers linger when they reach the tip of Nyx's cock, thumb spreading the dampness there. At the same time, his other hand slides up over the Glaive's hip, fingers splaying across his back and digging in there, one more anchor to keep the younger man from tumbling from his lap.]
Tell me what you want. [It takes some time to get the request gasped out between kisses and the need to catch his breath, not that Regis is in a hurry. He's finally let himself go to the heat and haze, soaking in each feeling, sound, and sight like one who may never experience any of it again. There is a push forward, but it is for more, not a rush to conclusion.]
It's enough to still his breath in his chest, make time stop for a span of heartbeats, something fragile and needy flickering through his gaze, a stunned surge of emotion that is not at all like the hot crackle of power that's been so common tonight but something softer, a shivering kind of warmth.
It's not fair, it's not true. It can't be, neither of them can make any guarantees about their own longevity but the fact that Regis, so careful with his words, would say it anyway... It's an offer, he knows that much, not a promise but still a statement of intent. That this man would even give him that much... It's more than he deserves, and yet when Regis captures him in another fierce kiss he returns it with every ounce of his being. More than he deserves but he will grab the opportunity with hands and teeth and never let go.
The kiss is bruising and demanding, whimpers and moans spilling out onto Regis' tongue and when he draws back enough to not only breathe but speak he has to start several times before Nyx allows him enough room to form the words. His mouth returns to Regis' throat, this time to the left, lips and tongue hot over the network of scars.
But he doesn't answer, doesn't trust himself to form words that won't be thick with not just pleasure but emotion he's not quite prepared to deal with just now. Instead he lets one hand move, shifting back to grab at Regis' bruised wrist, guiding his hand lower, not his back but his ass, and over a touch more, letting Regis' fingertips dip between the swell of muscle.]
[Promises are pretty, fragile little things far more at home in story and song where they won't be twisted and warped to serve whatever purpose their holders hide in their hearts. It's intent and action that get things done in reality and as such those things have always been the forces that directed Regis' life. Even years ago when he allowed himself to give into the fancy there might be a way to change Noctis' fate as the Chosen if he just looked hard enough, he never stepped completely away from those things, and it was they that eventually drew him back and allowed him to accept that some things cannot be changed no matter how much hope and goodwill drove his intent.
This intent is different from that one, though, for it's not based on a fanciful wish, but in reality. Regis knows he may only have a few more years before the Crystal's drain takes him from this world--perhaps even less if the Empire's incursions continue to become more aggressive--but he also knows that unlike others, his presence on this plane of existence won't end with his death. His soul will be bound to the Ring, and Astrals willing, Nyx will continue to defy death long enough to serve at his son's side as well. It won't be the same as being there physically with him, but he will still be able to watch over him.
Less logically, Regis has always been the kind to carry parts of those he's met within his heart. Nyx earned a place there when he was a much younger man, hurt, angry, and above all, determined--a fighter just like those that make up the Lucis Caelum line have always been. Much like Regis always has been.
And so Regis states his intent without hesitation or doubt for whatever form of 'forever' that may be granted to them.
After that statement of intent, though, words become unnecessary, the shift in the air around them and the flicker of emotions across Nyx's face telling more than they ever could. The storm has lessened, but not blown itself out. This is the eye. The place of safety, of calm and rest before the dangers beyond return. It's only here that Regis truly and fully lets everything wash over him, finally taking the time to feel and acknowledge his own reactions--the sparks of need that each press of lips against his neck create, how uncomfortably tight his own pants have become--instead of focusing on those of the man in his lap. He falls more with each kiss, almost forgetting he even asked the question until Nyx talks a hold of his wrist to move his hand lower in a wordless answer.]
Are you certain?
[The question is soft, asked not because Regis doubts that Nyx knows exactly what he wants, but because his position demands absolute certainty. This he cannot let go no matter how close they've been tonight.
He turns his head, pressing his lips into Nyx's hair.]
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hardbargain) wrote2018-11-08 08:23 pm
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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!
For the moment, his focus remains on nipple that had pulled such delightful reactions from the Glaive on his lap. In the back of his mind, Regis can't help but wonder if Nyx is just this sensitive, or if--and this is his pride speaking--he's got a fair bit to do with that. Whatever the answer, he seals his mouth over the nub, sucking, tongue and teeth teasing with as much force as the Glaive had teased his wrist with earlier. He only releases his hold when he feels Nyx drop his hand down to his pants, scrambling to get them open.]
Here, here. I've got you.
[His breath slides over damp skin as he shifts so he can bring one of his hands between them, nudging Nyx's away as he has a better angle to help with this particular troublesome issue. It's just a matter of a few seconds to deal with the zipper, but Regis is hardly ready to stop there. He may be a tease, but he's not that guy.
Not that he thinks Nyx needs any encouragement to wiggle out of his pants, but just in case, Regis tucks his fingers under the material to help slide it down far enough to free the Glaive's cock. Fire flashes in Regis' eyes and Nyx will find the fingers that close around him are slightly, though not uncomfortably, warmer than usual. The touches start gentle, but by the time his fingers reach the tip, the strokes are firmer and more confident before he twists his hand to start back up the shaft.]
Better?
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When the king finally pulls away enough to murmur against his chest Nyx is panting, sharp heavy breaths and his gaze gone distant and foggy with pleasure when he finally lifts his head to look down on the other man. The fingers in Regis' hair slowly uncurl a little, shifting his grip down to brace himself against the back of his neck, the top of one shoulder. He watches Regis' deft hands unfasten his pants and grinning something wild and feral at the heat in his king's gaze.]
Yeah... you got me.
[Muttered breathlessly and it's only after he's said it that the deeper implications of the words really register in his brain. Oh... oh.
But it's true isn't it? Wasn't that precisely why he'd come here? What had gotten them to this point in the first place. Nyx was utterly captivated by the man beneath him and every moment they've spent together in private has only validated all the curiosities and hopes and longings he's been harboring for years now.
Yeah, he's belonged to the Crown for nearly a decade but now, finally, he belongs to Regis. As much as a wild creature can belong to anyone.
There's a moment there where he thinks he should say something else, something more. Either to laugh it off or make it more than it was. But then Regis' hands are pulling his pants down around his thighs, strong fingers wrap around him and he's lost again. Another sharp cry, his voice already starting to go rough as he bucks up into Regis' hand.
His head falls back, he arches... and it's only the anchoring grip of his arm across Regis' shoulder that keeps him from tumbling backwards of his lap. A huff of breath that's nearly a laugh and then Nyx drags himself forward again, fingers catching at silvered hair to yank Regis' head back, crashing his lips to the king's, leaning into his grip and bringing the hand that's free now up to latch onto the top of the chair back. Suddenly he's so grateful for the Lucian decadence that gives him such a sturdy hand hold and the leverage to move his hips against both the hand working him so skillfully and the swell of Regis beneath him.]
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Forever.
[The word is exhaled more than spoken against Nyx's lips and then Regis returns to his previous actions, the kiss that follows once more intense. He doesn't want to let Nyx fall too far into his own mind right now. Not when the Glaive has done so much to keep him out of his own.
When he sets his fingers back to work, the touch is firmer and this time he lets his fingers linger when they reach the tip of Nyx's cock, thumb spreading the dampness there. At the same time, his other hand slides up over the Glaive's hip, fingers splaying across his back and digging in there, one more anchor to keep the younger man from tumbling from his lap.]
Tell me what you want.
[It takes some time to get the request gasped out between kisses and the need to catch his breath, not that Regis is in a hurry. He's finally let himself go to the heat and haze, soaking in each feeling, sound, and sight like one who may never experience any of it again. There is a push forward, but it is for more, not a rush to conclusion.]
What do you need?
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Vunajan.
It's enough to still his breath in his chest, make time stop for a span of heartbeats, something fragile and needy flickering through his gaze, a stunned surge of emotion that is not at all like the hot crackle of power that's been so common tonight but something softer, a shivering kind of warmth.
It's not fair, it's not true. It can't be, neither of them can make any guarantees about their own longevity but the fact that Regis, so careful with his words, would say it anyway... It's an offer, he knows that much, not a promise but still a statement of intent. That this man would even give him that much... It's more than he deserves, and yet when Regis captures him in another fierce kiss he returns it with every ounce of his being. More than he deserves but he will grab the opportunity with hands and teeth and never let go.
The kiss is bruising and demanding, whimpers and moans spilling out onto Regis' tongue and when he draws back enough to not only breathe but speak he has to start several times before Nyx allows him enough room to form the words. His mouth returns to Regis' throat, this time to the left, lips and tongue hot over the network of scars.
But he doesn't answer, doesn't trust himself to form words that won't be thick with not just pleasure but emotion he's not quite prepared to deal with just now. Instead he lets one hand move, shifting back to grab at Regis' bruised wrist, guiding his hand lower, not his back but his ass, and over a touch more, letting Regis' fingertips dip between the swell of muscle.]
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This intent is different from that one, though, for it's not based on a fanciful wish, but in reality. Regis knows he may only have a few more years before the Crystal's drain takes him from this world--perhaps even less if the Empire's incursions continue to become more aggressive--but he also knows that unlike others, his presence on this plane of existence won't end with his death. His soul will be bound to the Ring, and Astrals willing, Nyx will continue to defy death long enough to serve at his son's side as well. It won't be the same as being there physically with him, but he will still be able to watch over him.
Less logically, Regis has always been the kind to carry parts of those he's met within his heart. Nyx earned a place there when he was a much younger man, hurt, angry, and above all, determined--a fighter just like those that make up the Lucis Caelum line have always been. Much like Regis always has been.
And so Regis states his intent without hesitation or doubt for whatever form of 'forever' that may be granted to them.
After that statement of intent, though, words become unnecessary, the shift in the air around them and the flicker of emotions across Nyx's face telling more than they ever could. The storm has lessened, but not blown itself out. This is the eye. The place of safety, of calm and rest before the dangers beyond return. It's only here that Regis truly and fully lets everything wash over him, finally taking the time to feel and acknowledge his own reactions--the sparks of need that each press of lips against his neck create, how uncomfortably tight his own pants have become--instead of focusing on those of the man in his lap. He falls more with each kiss, almost forgetting he even asked the question until Nyx talks a hold of his wrist to move his hand lower in a wordless answer.]
Are you certain?
[The question is soft, asked not because Regis doubts that Nyx knows exactly what he wants, but because his position demands absolute certainty. This he cannot let go no matter how close they've been tonight.
He turns his head, pressing his lips into Nyx's hair.]
Forgive me, Wild One. I need you to say it.
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