[ 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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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?