[ one of them will be dead, surely, and Louis is all too aware that this will come to pass eventually. for now, he has Will in his grasp, being smug and arrogant in a way that almost makes Louis believe him, but not quite. not yet, anyway. Will can't beat him yet.
(some part of him thinks that it's possible to still convince Will – this elda boy, who had been hurt in much of the same way that he had – that the world needs remaking. that strength is the true test of fate. they could live together like that, couldn't they? basking in their strength as the world falls apart.)
there's a breathy, hot laugh that escapes his lips in puffs of air. ]
I won't fall for the same trick twice. Though I am curious if there's anything else you've got up your sleeve.
[ his breath hitches, but he still seems somewhat amused. long fingers close around Will's wrist, and he turns, holding his wrist behind him, forcing him forward. that's one less hand to grab his horns with, and gives Louis leeway in their current position. though Will also looks good like this, slightly arched forward with his shoulders pulled back, his ass dragging against his thighs.
leaning in, Louis gets close to his ear until his breath tickles the hairs there. ]
If I were to take you now, would you consider that winning?
[ if Will worked Louis up enough with his challenge for him to respond in turn? despite his confidence, Louis takes their cocks with his other hand, giving a single, deliberate, hard stroke in response to the provocation. ]
[ Will's breath catches in his throat as Louis twists his arm behind his back, forcing his spine to arch in just the way the man seems to like. He didn't quite expect Louis to escalate things so high, take this competition of theirs so seriously; abruptly, a thrill of fear shoots through Will's spine as he suddenly remembers just how dangerous this position is, how brazenly he's been playing with fire, teasing Louis Guiabern as if the man isn't mad enough to run him through with a blade if given the right provocation.
(Is that true, though? Sometimes Louis looks at him like he's special. Treats him like he's special. Sometimes, Will dares to think that he means something. Other times, he has to remind himself of how dangerous it would be to mean anything to Count Louis Guiabern.) ]
Hah... [ A breathless laugh. ] Why don't you take me and find out?
[ He could still touch Louis's horn with his free hand, despite all proclamations of not falling for the same trick twice, but Will only moves his hand to caress the man's obscenely beautiful face instead, gazing heatedly into his gorgeous long-lashed eyes.
What else does Will have up his sleeve? Nothing, nothing whatsoever — save for those large, soulful eyes of his, mismatched but deep in color, speaking of infinite love and infatuation. Only Will ever looks at Louis like this — like he isn't an untouchable ideal or a ruthless warmonger to be feared so much as a soft, sweet thing that would never hurt him, no matter how his wrist is twisted behind his back in the moment.
Any man in Euchronia could get on his knees for Louis, suck him off, take him willingly, ride him until he comes — but only Will can look this sweet, wide-eyed and loving, with lips that have drunk of the sweet, too-thick air of that sacred forest grove that lies in ashes at the bottom of Louis's heart. ]
Take me. Claim me. Make me yours.
[ Oh, he knows he's lying, but it feels so good to lie. Perhaps Louis even knows that he's lying. The Count can never claim him so long as he professes in his own mad belief that he can create a world where strength dominates above all else — but wouldn't it be nice to think for a moment that Will was something he could conquer? ]
[ the day may come before either of them die where Will may understand why Louis looks at him the way that he does – as if no other could compare. they couldn't, they never would, and none of those confused onlookers that just saw Louis enamored with an elda boy would understand. Louis did not expect them to understand, because this was something that was purely for him.
tilting his head down, Louis kisses his temple almost tenderly, still holding that arm firm behind his back. he cranes down as Will cranes back, as if they were being inked for some grand painting. this bright-eyed, feisty creature on his lap, turning the church side-ways and claiming the competition for the crown with his brash brand of kindness.
Louis stalls there for a moment, his nose buried in Will's hair. ]
That would almost be a shame – freedom looks good on you. As much as I want shackle you, I want to see what whim will take you next. You look rather stunning on the bow of a gauntlet runner.
[ his voice lowers. ]
That doesn't mean I won't claim you now.
[ is that reckless of him? yes – his advisors had told him that much, and Fidelio had been quiet in his misgivings. it's not simply his fondness for Will – for another elda that wishes to open the whole world – it's the thrill of where they may meet next. it is the thrill of conquering again and again and again.
he passes a bottle into palm of Will's free hand, finally letting him go and sitting back against his chair like a king on a throne. there's a look that he may devour him whole, a deep seated hunger that wishes to be sated.
tilting his head, he keeps his eyes steady on Will, and when he speaks, there's the same warmth to his voice as there was when he declared the soiree for Will. ]
[ Oh, this is dangerous. So, so dangerous. Dangerous, to be held in place by hands large enough to manhandle his body with alarming ease. Will knows he shouldn't be moved, that he should remind himself that he is playing at making love to a madman — but Louis turns his head and kisses his temple and Will feels his heart soar.
In that one moment, he could almost swear that he's never been happier in his life. But isn't that a terrible thing to think? Isn't that a horrible thing to think? Shouldn't his memories of the prince — of Hulkenberg and Strohl and Heismay and Neuras — shouldn't those things be more important to him than this moment with the man who tried to kill his best friend?
And yet — Louis doesn't just kiss Will. He lingers, nosing into Will's hair as if he even likes Will's scent. (Perhaps he does.) Little flashes of tenderness, a tempting sweetness that makes Will wonder if there isn't some other way to end everything. In the same vein, it also makes him wonder whether this is only the honey in the flytrap's leaf, and reality will come crushing down on him at any moment.
The bottle pressed into his hand promises damnation and salvation in equal measure, and Will is only a boy, in the end. A boy with common needs and base impulses, and Louis is so, so viciously handsome, and the most beautiful man in Euchronia is looking at him like he wants to eat him.
He succumbs — but when he succumbs, it isn't because of the seduction promised by Louis's long lashes and vivid eyes, but because of that tantalizing undercurrent of affection, the sweet warmth in Louis's voice. ]
...As you will, Lord Louis.
[ The tone is servile, but it aches with the need for more, too. As if some faint layer of rebellion still lurks behind Will's obedient facade, as if he's the one who would devour Louis if given the chance —
They are both creatures of hunger, so it's easy for Will to give in to his. He's already hard, and he knows what Louis wants to see — but, defiant, he touches himself in a different way first, following the letter but perhaps not the intent of Louis's command. Will slicks up his palms, rubs one generously over his cock, indulging recklessly in the luxurious slickness, the luscious viscosity. As he jerks himself, he keeps his eyes fixed on Louis, taking in his regal air, his kingly features. If Louis is the king tonight, then Will is only a common pauper, indulging in filthy fantasies of his lord. A breath passes through his lips; so does Louis's name. His lashes flutter over his cheeks as he takes in Louis's beautiful face, jerks his cock, indulges in thoughts of how it might feel to have those gorgeous lips wrapped around it.
Ultimately, though — his own greed wins out. He wants Louis inside of him, of his own volition and appetites; Will himself can't resist the temptation to slip his other hand down to his hole and begin stretching himself out. He isn't shy about it, going at it with an ease that suggests he's done this before. He's quite possibly even more aggressive with himself than Louis would be with him, in the way that it is easier to know one's own comfort than to gauge another's. ]
Does this... [ Abruptly, he remembers to give himself a few strokes; as lewd as he looks, his own touch doesn't seem to make him shiver the way that Louis's fingers do. ] Does this please you?
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no subject
(some part of him thinks that it's possible to still convince Will – this elda boy, who had been hurt in much of the same way that he had – that the world needs remaking. that strength is the true test of fate. they could live together like that, couldn't they? basking in their strength as the world falls apart.)
there's a breathy, hot laugh that escapes his lips in puffs of air. ]
I won't fall for the same trick twice. Though I am curious if there's anything else you've got up your sleeve.
[ his breath hitches, but he still seems somewhat amused. long fingers close around Will's wrist, and he turns, holding his wrist behind him, forcing him forward. that's one less hand to grab his horns with, and gives Louis leeway in their current position. though Will also looks good like this, slightly arched forward with his shoulders pulled back, his ass dragging against his thighs.
leaning in, Louis gets close to his ear until his breath tickles the hairs there. ]
If I were to take you now, would you consider that winning?
[ if Will worked Louis up enough with his challenge for him to respond in turn? despite his confidence, Louis takes their cocks with his other hand, giving a single, deliberate, hard stroke in response to the provocation. ]
no subject
[ Will's breath catches in his throat as Louis twists his arm behind his back, forcing his spine to arch in just the way the man seems to like. He didn't quite expect Louis to escalate things so high, take this competition of theirs so seriously; abruptly, a thrill of fear shoots through Will's spine as he suddenly remembers just how dangerous this position is, how brazenly he's been playing with fire, teasing Louis Guiabern as if the man isn't mad enough to run him through with a blade if given the right provocation.
(Is that true, though? Sometimes Louis looks at him like he's special. Treats him like he's special. Sometimes, Will dares to think that he means something. Other times, he has to remind himself of how dangerous it would be to mean anything to Count Louis Guiabern.) ]
Hah... [ A breathless laugh. ] Why don't you take me and find out?
[ He could still touch Louis's horn with his free hand, despite all proclamations of not falling for the same trick twice, but Will only moves his hand to caress the man's obscenely beautiful face instead, gazing heatedly into his gorgeous long-lashed eyes.
What else does Will have up his sleeve? Nothing, nothing whatsoever — save for those large, soulful eyes of his, mismatched but deep in color, speaking of infinite love and infatuation. Only Will ever looks at Louis like this — like he isn't an untouchable ideal or a ruthless warmonger to be feared so much as a soft, sweet thing that would never hurt him, no matter how his wrist is twisted behind his back in the moment.
Any man in Euchronia could get on his knees for Louis, suck him off, take him willingly, ride him until he comes — but only Will can look this sweet, wide-eyed and loving, with lips that have drunk of the sweet, too-thick air of that sacred forest grove that lies in ashes at the bottom of Louis's heart. ]
Take me. Claim me. Make me yours.
[ Oh, he knows he's lying, but it feels so good to lie. Perhaps Louis even knows that he's lying. The Count can never claim him so long as he professes in his own mad belief that he can create a world where strength dominates above all else — but wouldn't it be nice to think for a moment that Will was something he could conquer? ]
no subject
tilting his head down, Louis kisses his temple almost tenderly, still holding that arm firm behind his back. he cranes down as Will cranes back, as if they were being inked for some grand painting. this bright-eyed, feisty creature on his lap, turning the church side-ways and claiming the competition for the crown with his brash brand of kindness.
Louis stalls there for a moment, his nose buried in Will's hair. ]
That would almost be a shame – freedom looks good on you. As much as I want shackle you, I want to see what whim will take you next. You look rather stunning on the bow of a gauntlet runner.
[ his voice lowers. ]
That doesn't mean I won't claim you now.
[ is that reckless of him? yes – his advisors had told him that much, and Fidelio had been quiet in his misgivings. it's not simply his fondness for Will – for another elda that wishes to open the whole world – it's the thrill of where they may meet next. it is the thrill of conquering again and again and again.
he passes a bottle into palm of Will's free hand, finally letting him go and sitting back against his chair like a king on a throne. there's a look that he may devour him whole, a deep seated hunger that wishes to be sated.
tilting his head, he keeps his eyes steady on Will, and when he speaks, there's the same warmth to his voice as there was when he declared the soiree for Will. ]
Before I do, show me how you want me.
no subject
In that one moment, he could almost swear that he's never been happier in his life. But isn't that a terrible thing to think? Isn't that a horrible thing to think? Shouldn't his memories of the prince — of Hulkenberg and Strohl and Heismay and Neuras — shouldn't those things be more important to him than this moment with the man who tried to kill his best friend?
And yet — Louis doesn't just kiss Will. He lingers, nosing into Will's hair as if he even likes Will's scent. (Perhaps he does.) Little flashes of tenderness, a tempting sweetness that makes Will wonder if there isn't some other way to end everything. In the same vein, it also makes him wonder whether this is only the honey in the flytrap's leaf, and reality will come crushing down on him at any moment.
The bottle pressed into his hand promises damnation and salvation in equal measure, and Will is only a boy, in the end. A boy with common needs and base impulses, and Louis is so, so viciously handsome, and the most beautiful man in Euchronia is looking at him like he wants to eat him.
He succumbs — but when he succumbs, it isn't because of the seduction promised by Louis's long lashes and vivid eyes, but because of that tantalizing undercurrent of affection, the sweet warmth in Louis's voice. ]
...As you will, Lord Louis.
[ The tone is servile, but it aches with the need for more, too. As if some faint layer of rebellion still lurks behind Will's obedient facade, as if he's the one who would devour Louis if given the chance —
They are both creatures of hunger, so it's easy for Will to give in to his. He's already hard, and he knows what Louis wants to see — but, defiant, he touches himself in a different way first, following the letter but perhaps not the intent of Louis's command. Will slicks up his palms, rubs one generously over his cock, indulging recklessly in the luxurious slickness, the luscious viscosity. As he jerks himself, he keeps his eyes fixed on Louis, taking in his regal air, his kingly features. If Louis is the king tonight, then Will is only a common pauper, indulging in filthy fantasies of his lord. A breath passes through his lips; so does Louis's name. His lashes flutter over his cheeks as he takes in Louis's beautiful face, jerks his cock, indulges in thoughts of how it might feel to have those gorgeous lips wrapped around it.
Ultimately, though — his own greed wins out. He wants Louis inside of him, of his own volition and appetites; Will himself can't resist the temptation to slip his other hand down to his hole and begin stretching himself out. He isn't shy about it, going at it with an ease that suggests he's done this before. He's quite possibly even more aggressive with himself than Louis would be with him, in the way that it is easier to know one's own comfort than to gauge another's. ]
Does this... [ Abruptly, he remembers to give himself a few strokes; as lewd as he looks, his own touch doesn't seem to make him shiver the way that Louis's fingers do. ] Does this please you?