[ Will's heart suddenly feels as though it's stopped beating in his chest.
It's hard to breathe; his heart feels as though it's leapt into his throat, cloying, choking him. He didn't notice, didn't feel Louis in the room with him at all until suddenly his presence was impossible to ignore, looming up against his back.
Why are you here? he wants to ask, but the answer is blatantly obvious; Will knew that Louis would notice that he left the party, so now he is only in a crisis of his own making. I do like it, he almost wants to say, as though that would distract from the fact that he is, at present, in the middle of going through Louis's things. I had to lie to them is the only real thought on his mind, and he can't very well blurt it out loud. ]
...I do like it...
[ It's the only safe thing he can say, the only safe thing he can do. Pretend that everything is fine. It might even work, if only he could sound convincing about it. But he can't get himself under control. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, and his voice is trembling, too. ]
I just... didn't want to bother you with something so trivial.
[ if it was fate, or if it was something more akin to Will's own desires, he's certainly found himself here now. there is an inkling in his mind that he knows what Will seeks, and takes some kind of smug pride in being the one that interrupts his search. in all of their encounters, he has to have some admiration that Will has not outright asked him: did you curse the prince?
though, Louis supposes, the answer to that is rather complicated. not complicated in the way of answering, no, Louis knows what's complicated in how the answer is received. I did not curse the prince has been repeated by him since he was a decade younger, once in desperation, then in defiance, and now not at all, an echo against the walls of the palace. the lie of his supposed deceit has woven itself so intricately into politics that it seems known fact rather than debate, one he will not argue. how would he? he has no proof other than his freedom – if Forden had an ounce of it, he'd certainly be exiled by now, if not with a bounty on his head. that Forden hasn't been able to come up with anything convincing is telling.
yet absence of evidence does not prove his innocence, or he'd be vindicated by now. in a situation like this, he wouldn't be able to convince Will anyway, would he? those are all things Will needs to find out for himself and come to that conclusion.
Fidelio called him a fool for keeping this boy so close, but as Louis watches him intently, he has to respect his nerve. there's a thrill in their little dance, and now Will is caught like a rabbit in a fox den, cornered against a shelf of beloved books as if he's about to be devoured. it's a small victory for Louis, but that's all he needs to relish in it.
just above him, but close enough to get small flutters of the way his clothing moves, or the linger of his scent. ]
Was the party too intense for you? There are those in attendance I also find rather prying and tactless. If someone has insulted you, I would hear of it.
[ with a gloved finger, he tips up Will's chin to examine his face. despite all he knows, he doesn't mind giving Will a way to wiggle out of this. that he has him here, at this moment, is enough for him. ]
[ Will's heart won't stop pounding loudly in his ears. He's never felt like this before, never so fearful and with so much adrenaline — not even in that first fight with a human at the fort, when he thought he'd just seen Strohl die before his eyes, has he ever felt like this, panicked and rabbit-scared and afraid. He thought he was better than this, more courageous, less prone to this kind of anxiety, this kind of terror, but all he can do is stare blankly into Louis Guiabern's brilliant eyes and offer neither affirmation nor denial.
This could end so badly for him, his traitorous brain decides to remind him. Fidelio's voice, mocking, reminds him of the way Louis uses people for magic experiments. ]
I... I don't...
[ What is Louis playing at? Is he drawing this out for his own sadistic pleasure? Does he want to watch Will try to lie his way out of this? The "spy" is caught and he knows it; he can't imagine that Louis doesn't know it, too. That there are no innocent explanations for Will having snuck into his room behind his back, during the soiree, with the clear expectation that Louis would be too busy to find him here.
What hurts the most, he thinks, is that he knows this should not be his concern — that he should, perhaps, push Louis's hand away, try to flee, curse his name, tell him to give the prince's life back to him — but for some reason, some terrible awful cursed selfish reason, Will can only think to ask, in the smallest possible voice: ]
[ oh, but magical experiments weren't something in store for Will. they have a common ground that he doesn't know about, one that allows him more freedom than not in this situation.
(later, when Louis is spurned and desperate, he will feel differently about this. even then, Will is not someone to be experimented on. no, he deserves better than that. he deserves the outcome of those experiments in all their glory.)
the hand at his chin cups his cheek, a thumb tracing over the shape of it. still, Louis is fond of him. there are ways that Will is familiar, as well, with large, mismatched eyes that still don't know the truth. ]
No. [ then, curiously, he replies: ] You may stay here as long as it suits you.
[ permission to continue searching for whatever he was looking for. for all Louis seems to set traps, they are never as blatant as this, though the rest of the group would insist. there is nothing to incriminate him, and thus nothing that would serve Will's purpose, as much as he looks. ]
My quarters are yours to explore.
[ there's a surprising warmth to his voice, an unspoken invitation. ]
[ Relief makes Will's body sag against Louis's; he presses his cheek against the man's hand, letting out a terrified, shaky breath. He shouldn't — he shouldn't. This is wrong and sick and stupid, but he's so, so painfully relieved that he — he...
He can't explain it to himself. Why he wants this, why he seeks this. But Will, shaking, lunges forward, presses his head against Louis's chest. Hugs him. Holds him. Embraces him. Squeezes him tight, as though Louis has just saved him from some terrible evil, and Will has no other way of expressing how grateful he is to have been rescued.
Which is — stupid, really. Louis is the very evil from which Will needed to be saved. This is the man who could have killed him if the idea of Will's betrayal displeased him enough — so why is Will rushing to his arms for comfort?
I wasn't supposed to be afraid to die, he thinks. And then: It is not that I am afraid to die, but I'm afraid of what I'm becoming.
He hates the fact that he knows Louis can feel him trembling.
He takes a shaky breath. Swallows hard on his throat, loud enough for it to be heard in the quiet of the suite. Clings until he stops shaking. ]
[ Will leaps on him, spreading his arms and wrapping them tightly around his waist, half obstructed by his cape. neither of them can explain it, but he does not push Will away – for a moment, blissfully, he thinks that they are two elda who have strayed from the village, and now all they have is one another. even if Will doesn't know of his heritage, and he doesn't know fully all that is Will. while Will is afraid of what he is becoming, Louis is terrified of the implication of this step into the depth of intimacy.
(he'll have to send him away after this. there is no world where he has the luxury of such affection — no, there is a world that needs to be changed. perhaps if Will catches a glimpse into the truth, there may be a hope for them. that is a desire to fleeting to grasp.)
Louis watches him with half-lidded eyes, bright under his dark lashes, petting his hair with a gloved palm. the boy who directly challenged the church seems so small in his arms, but Louis knows how dangerous he is. he knows how this will end.
yet ... yet ... ]
You would not be among my ranks if you were not at least somewhat foolish. I do not employee puppets.
[ what will he do now? Louis wonders, since he's been caught so blatantly. ]
[ So foolish. So stupid. What is he doing? Louis is a monster, a self-admitted one, and Will cannot betray the memory of the eldan prince who was so kind to him when he had no one else after the village burned. Yet the man he — what, loves? — is the selfsame man who nearly killed his friend, and will kill his friend if Will dawdles long enough. The prince doesn't have much time left.
What is this? What is he doing? Does he really love Louis, or is he merely a slave to pleasure?
(Pleasure alone does not explain the way Louis is holding him, caressing him, as though nothing in the world could be more beautiful or more precious.) ]
That's true. You do love boldness.
[ He can say that so casually. As though he knows Louis so well.
Gradually, and with one last clinging sigh against Louis's chest, Will relents, and lets go of the man. He is still terrified in some strange corner of his heart, but at the very least, Louis has all but promised that he won't kill him. ]
...
[ Will's eyes, normally so round and large and inquisitive, lower to the ground. There's no point in hiding, he thinks, but neither does he want to admit that he was here for nefarious purposes. Above all else, he will not implicate his friends in guilt. He should ask about the formula — but doing so will let Louis know that the prince still lives.
[ closer and closer this eldan boy inches to the truth – a truth, that Louis knows, is Will's by right.
well, Will did ask, and Louis will not lie. ]
Before the time that I was taken beneath the wing of the military, the book lead me to where I am today. A man gave it to me when I was young, though I couldn't say it was because he believed or disbelieved in the words inked across its pages. Perhaps he merely gave up on them.
[ there's a quiet bitterness in his voice, but he continues: ]
From the way you ask of it, you know of its contents.
[ Will should be afraid. eventually, the two of them will clash, they may even kill one another. Louis believes he can sway Will, eventually, but he is running on borrowed time, and it ticks away as each small part of his ambition clicks into place.
they want the same for the world, don't they? ]
I doubt the church has forgotten about it, as the book itself is labeled as dangerous and banned across the nation. To think that ideas of utopia that stroke the imagination are so dangerous to a force that claims to be descended from divinity.
[ Will sighs, looking over at the bookshelf where Louis's copy of More's book sits. Though he himself relinquished the embrace, he still hasn't quite moved out of the blond man's arms. Somehow, he can't quite bring himself to. Once again, he thinks of the things he should do — find the formula, or some way to kill him, and get out — and compared them against the things he wants to do — like linger in Lous's company just a little while longer, some small few moments longer, until he feels that he understands the man he knows he must someday kill.
But does it have to be like that? he imagines asking into a system that would question why he cares. Can we not dream of happier ends?
What would the prince do? Realistically, Will doesn't know. They were only boys when they last spoke... ]
...I thought they were all destroyed. [ His voice bears the heavy sound of quiet remembrance. ] I thought I had the only copy left in the world.
[ Will does not remember the burning of the village the way that Louis remembers it. In that way, perhaps, he has suffered less, and he would admit to that, if Louis ever had cause to question him on it. Yet as he speaks of the burning of the book (which he, as a creature of fantasy, feels more deeply than he himself is even aware of), there is a true and genuine sadness in his voice, as though he witnessed the burning of those books as vividly as Louis watched his family and village go up in flames. ]
I still want to build a utopia like that. I still want to dream...
[ what Louis doesn't tell Will are the lengths he had gone to in order to protect that book. he's bold enough to add it to his shelf now, when he can act in defiance of the church, but that had not been the case ten, even five, years ago. if they had found it then, Forden would've pried it from his hands himself and put it to the pyre. it would've been gone with the rest of them, burnt to ash with no memory of its existence. when he learned he could, Louis began collecting all manners of texts that the church hated, both in direct opposition to the institution, as well as the elda, who would see certain secrets to die with them.
how would anyone move forward to a utopia like that?
Will doesn't move, but instead speaks of dreams with a distant sound to his voice, and Louis does believe it to be true. perhaps not in the same way, but there is no where that can be reached without a vision outside of the current situation. yes, there must be vision first, and that Will is here instead of dead or rotting away and hidden deep in the forest is telling. ]
Come here.
[ there's not much space between them, and it seems so easy now to tilt up Will's chin to kiss him. it's firm, with the lingering taste of whatever sweet wine Louis was sipping on during the soiree before he left.
there's no need to respond with words, because there's something beautiful about kissing the mouth that just uttered such words. ]
Why is it that this sort of thing makes him feel even lighter and warmer than his memories of the prince these days?
He can't do this. Shouldn't do this. The mission is being compromised, and he was never meant to be more than the mission. At the same time, Louis's kiss feels right — warm and sweet and a little heady with alcohol, a flavor which Will has never been allowed before, and its taste is dizzying, like sin. Even if he had the heart to jerk back — and he doesn't — Louis's grip on his chin is firm and unyielding. Much like the man himself.
Will gives in. He doesn't respond with words, either — he simply parts his lips to accept Louis's kisses, begging for more with each eager movement of his tongue against the blond's. His fingers clutch at Louis's shirt, seeking what little purchase he can find along its perfectly tailored surface. I want this, he seems to be saying, despite the fact that it almost hurts to admit it. I need this.
His appetite is always the stronger, between the two of them. It was Louis who pulled him in first, true — but it's Will who has always begged for more, more and more and more until they've let the day slip by to indulge in the other.
Louis, Louis, Louis. Will wants to understand him so badly. How can be be this gentle, and yet so cruel? What does he want in this moment, when he did not even bring judgment upon Will's obvious betrayal? ]
[ Will will see the meaning in all of this when it's too late, and Louis turns away as allows himself to be poisoned by the royal scepter, unwilling to go back. for now, Lord Louis Guianbern is here with Will in his chambers, still somewhat rational and not yet fully gone.
the gloved hand at his chin wanders dangerously down his throat, holding him gently as if he could strike at any moment, but he doesn't. he doesn't, and instead, he just takes more of the kiss, exploring the inside of his mouth and teasing his tongue. before long, Louis has Will pressed up against the bookcase, his hands boldly wandering lower to trace his chest, his waist, his hips.
there will be those that notice his absence – those that notice Will's – but he has never been one to care. he has put himself in a position where other people's opinions no longer matter, and he can do as he likes. there is always a little threat to their coupling, isn't there? it's possible that Will's friends will find them, and then he's certain that something interesting would come of it. (he doubts they'd blow their cover so boldly, though.)
he can feel Will's hands searching along his uniform for something – either to grip or to start removing, and he smiles in the kiss, because he falls so easily into it. they both do. this is as reckless on Louis' part as it is on Will's, perhaps more so, if Fidelio were to be heard. where they differ is while Will questions the pleasure, Louis does not care.
standing over Will, Louis lowers, just a bit, to pull back from the wet kiss and part his lips at the thin line of exposed skin just beneath his collar. ]
[ Will moans softly as he tips his head back, eager to accept more of Louis's kisses, to have that beautiful mouth softly nipping down his neck, hands trying to expose his body, explore every inch of skin within reach. He's beautiful, the young man thinks, hazily, because it's true that he does not think he has or ever will meet a man more beautiful and more dangerous than Louis Guiabern. Their difference in heights and physiques is dizzying, each and every time; even this slight adjustment in position has Will feeling as though he's being bent in half.
Even so, he is undeterred. His appetites are fresher and more avaricious than ever. Will's fingers finally remember how to take Louis's clothing apart; he wants to work at the buttons across Louis's chest, pull them apart to reveal inches of alabaster skin and perfectly sculpted marble, but he's learned from past experience that the man does not seem to favor having his body exposed, so Will chooses instead to work at his own buttons. As Louis mouths at him, he loosens the collar of his jacket, then pulls it off his shoulders, surrendering his body for the man's exploration, his investigation, his use.
A spy, caught in his betrayed lord's bedroom — stripping for forgiveness, falling on seduction to save him. It would be poignant if Will were not so willing. The truth is, he doesn't know if he's trying to save the mission, or only trying to indulge himself. Louis is so intensely demanding, so pleasurable to please. Will lets his coat drop to the ground; he buries his nose in the man's hair.
He always, always smells so good. Somehow not of anything in particular, no foreign or artificial scent, but sort of woodsy, sort of green. Warm, in the way that washed linens are. Will always feels so comforted in Louis's embrace. As if he's somehow familiar, but then, Will can't fathom why that should be so. ]
[ there goes Will's jacket, his bag, the buttons on his vest, giving Louis room to trace the curve of his waist up toward his chest. when the vest falls down his arms, Louis bundles it and lets it drop carelessly. it's less clothing to deal with, and he's closer to the shape of Will's body, now only separated from his hand with a thin barrier of fabric.
all that's left is the black shirt, and Louis is devilish and wanting, firm and direct in his desires when he traces a thumb over a nipple through the fabric, teasing it until he can feel the shape under his clothing.
Will wanted to talk about the book, but not enough to interrupt the next kiss. they have time, but neither enough to dawdle before they're summoned back to the party – and Will, well, he has a mission to complete. Louis has an idea, though he may not fully know the extent, and certainly does not care. he's not the perpetrator of the crime that center of the group's intent, and there's nothing in the Charadrius that would implicate him. despite that, he's certain that they'll keep looking, and he wonders if Will may begin to question certain rumors taken as truths, but that remains to be seen.
when Will leans forward, Louis slips an arm just under his hips, lifting him up off his feet how they've both accustomed themselves to it. there's a thrill at the idea of taking Will up against the bookshelf, but he could also have him anywhere. the plush, red chair that Louis loves to lounge in so much is not far, and he settles himself lavishly in it with Will on his lap.
Louis is in the race to be king, though his ambitions reach further than just ruling. however, in a moment like this, he does feel like royalty with Will on his lap. ]
[ So maddening, to feel so helpless. There is a part of Will that is telling himself that he has no choice, that he must please this tyrant if he wants to walk out of this room alive. Another, more traitorous corner of his heart whispers of how badly he wants it, how good it will feel to surrender to Louis once again and drown in that pleasure which only he seems to be able to bring Will's body. It's in the way he touches Will, feels him up through the fabric of his shirt as if memorizing his every curve and the swell of his breaths. His thumb presses against Will's nipple deliberately, teasing it until it peaks, and every nerve in Will's body is tingling for more.
Will is already hard and aching in his pants by the time Louis settles him into that beautiful armchair, and the man's gorgeous lap. He knows he shouldn't be so lascivious, that Louis may not even like the idea of him being so whorish and wanton, but he can't help himself; he grinds his cock into the man's groin, as if desperate to signal his eagerness, and how badly he wants this. The one comfort he tells himself is that Louis has always liked it when he's bold.
Will boldness win him the truth? Can boldness save the prince's life? If nothing else, he can admit that he wants to satisfy Louis. Craving sex with Louis may very well be the only selfish thing Will has wanted in his short life. ]
[ oh, Louis is certain that Fidelio has his number by now, especially with the two of them gone from the soiree. while he didn't plant this exchange exactly, he certainly didn't discount the possibility of it happening. the last couple weeks have told him that Will likes his company quite a bit more than he may come off to his friends, seeing how many times he's been at Louis' doorstep since their first tryst.
like a big cat, Louis leans back in his seat as Will presses into him. whenever the two of them part, he's never aware of his own loneliness, but it seems to show up again when Will spreads his legs over his lap and reminds him how beautiful affection can be. it scares him, in a way, but not enough that he won't face it – or perhaps he doesn't want to deny the pleasure. (later, he'll send Will away.) he cups Will's cheek in his hand, tracing his thumb over his parted lips. his breath is light, and his mouth is sweet.
with an arm he draws him in, takes his hip his hand and drags him down as Will grinds against him, letting the movement roll through his body. his breath comes in long, fills his chest and comes out in a hah of warmth. ]
You're already ready.
[ there's a playful cadence to his voice, as playful as someone like Count Louis can have, but it's there nonetheless. ]
You — [ Will squirms, holding his pleasure taut in his belly, God, it feels so good ] — you make me ready...
[ He feels as though he's going mad. Something about Louis is surely driving him mad, urging him onward, towards pleasure, and towards the loss of all reason. It's more than the pleasure that he feels in his own body; it's wanting that pleasure to course through Louis, too. It's the way he takes satisfaction in hearing Louis's breath catch in his throat and come out in a half-laugh, one that reminds Will in an intoxicating way that the man is only mortal, and even he can be caught, killed, seduced, defiled.
(Of all the possibilities, Will doesn't know which one he wants more.)
Will himself breathes out hard, too, letting himself sink further into debauchery. Seeking support and someplace to put his weight, he places one hand, daringly, over the curve of Louis's left breast. Squeezes it. Imagines what it would be like to sink his hand into that chest, and tear his heart out.
And yet — somehow, before that, and against all reason, Will thinks that he'd like to ride Louis's cock, and make him taste heaven instead.
The young elda lowers his mouth and claims Louis's lips again, licking delicately into his mouth, all tantalizing wetness, grazing his teeth along the man's bottom lip as he pulls away. ]
I'm always ready, the second I feel your hands on me...
[ caught, killed, seduced, defiled – perhaps all of them at once. Louis never wanted to be a deity, as there is something glorious about being mortal, and perhaps this is all part of it. there is some primal part of Will being tapped into, and Louis can see it on his face as he presses against his chest, leans into the pressure and looks like he may devour him.
is that it – is the accomplished Count Louis Guiabern the prey to this kind hearted elda boy? wouldn't that be something?
Louis takes the wrist of the hand on his chest as if in challenge, keeping his gaze locked with Will's until they're connected again. it's warmth and teeth this time, a messy wetness that feels tainted. when Will pulls back, Louis draws his arm up and takes him closer to the elbow, drags him in again and clicks his teeth together. ]
Come, then. I will put my hands everywhere.
[ from his wrist to his elbow, and then from his elbow to hooked beneath his shoulder. he won't allow Will to go far. long fingers find their way under his shirt, dance just up his spine as he urges their hips together. there's a quiet hum in his throat when they grind together, as Will isn't the only one who's already ready. ]
[ Little movements win him quiet moans, caught in the throat; something in Will burns for more. He wants to hear more of that, louder — turn that soft hum into a ferocious growl. Wants to drive Louis crazy, if he can manage it.
Maybe thinking that is only proof that Louis is the one who's driven him crazy instead.
Still. He feels no shame, or at least, he's forgotten what shame should feel like. He lets Louis's long fingers dance over his body; he even sits back and pulls his shirt off of his own volition, as if to signal exactly how eager he is, or perhaps how desperate. Then he's on top of Louis again, kissing him fiercely, all appetite and dizzying lust for such a small thing.
In all the times they've coupled, this might be the first time Will has been the one to be so hungry. He rubs his groin against Louis's until he feels the man fully at attention, even laughs a little when he takes stock of just how big and thick his lord is; shirtless and stripped bare, he rocks his hips the way some men ride horses, only this time the beast beneath him is none other than Louis Guiabern, and he, the nameless elda boy, acts as if he's come to claim his prize. ]
Everywhere...?
[ He acts so innocent, even when he's being so sinful. Deliciously delicate, impossibly slim, Will leans back in a way that makes his hips look more curvaceous than ever, then takes hold of the hand that isn't dancing up his spine, placing Louis's large palm firmly over the bulge between his legs, as if to promise him that he has a gift waiting for him there. ]
[ so much passion in such a person, pressing fervently on top of him as if Louis belonged to him. there are not many who've attempted this, and none who've succeeded, but there's something about Will that fascinates him. even found in his room, trembling and terrified, Will manages to recover in a dizzying array of elegance. Louis wonders if this is like an outlet for him, or if there's something magnetic between them in the way their magla manifests. perhaps both.
with his shirt off and no barrier between Louis' hands and Will's body, he finds the spaces he seems to love to trace: the curve of his waist, the plump shape of his rear, his thumb in the dip of his spine until he can feel the little hairs on his body stand on end. he is enamored as much as he first saw him when he defied the church, his eyes on him just as insistently as his hands. ]
You're getting impatient.
[ where he was once lounging, Louis sits up just slightly, leaning forward in to Will who's getting so deliciously eager. he rubs his cock through his pants, finding the shape of it much like he found the shape of other parts of Will's body. he's soft, responsive, and Louis can tell that he desires something deeper (so flagrantly stripping and mewling, as if a heat had arisen in him). the hand that was once at his spine presses against down against his ass, urging him to thrust into his hand, even with the fabric between them.
Louis is close enough that there's a hot, panting breath that matches Will's movements, one that says he may be imagining what Will is – the other elda on top of him, riding him with a growing sense of urgency. as if to tasting him in preparation to devour him, Louis drags his tongue from between his pecs and up his throat. ]
[ Will shivers, throwing his head back; he allows himself to sink into the arousal, the slick wet sick sensation, silky and hot and good, of Louis's tongue moving over his sternum, up up up over his throat and the pulse in his neck. Oh, a man this outwardly perfect shouldn't be allowed to be so lewd. So hungry, so tempestuous. Will fears that he'll drown in the torrent of Louis's lust. ]
So are you...
[ The hand on his lower back, between his legs — the hands in his sensitive, intimate places only drive Will's want to blazing heights. But, coquettishly, he refuses to touch Louis in turn. He hears that hot wet breath tinging Louis's voice, he sees the desire dancing in his eyes like sunlight shining through emeralds — but even so. Deliberately, he wants to make Louis ache. ]
And I love to see it.
[ He's never quite sounded like this before. Voice husky, low, seductive. He has one hand on the man's chin as he whispers directly into the shell of Louis's ear, caressing his jawline; he speaks so low and so directly into his lover's eardrum that it's almost as if he's making a conscious effort to tickle Louis's brain. ]
I want to see how you look when someone makes you wait.
[ it's remarkable how Will finds himself, taking away snatches of power and control from one of the most powerful men in Euchronia. it's no wonder that he's risen as quickly as he has, this spirit is nothing less than glorious. if it's anyone who could attain the heights of Louis' arousal, it's this elda boy on his lap.
as Will lowers to press down into his hand again, Louis stills him until their eyes align. there are two that can play at this little push and pull, and it seems to light a spark inside of him. he tilts his head, his gaze steady on him, leaning in closer until their foreheads are touching. ]
How long will that be?
[ he asks, his voice heady, the same quiet lust behind the phrase he had uttered early at the party: drink it in. ]
Will you endure long enough for such a prize?
[ deliberately, he runs his thumb up Will's cock, along the length and to where he knows the head to be. there's a slight urgency to his touch now that Will's so close, openly touching his face and brushing against his hair. he's hungry for more of it, coaxing it out of his would-be rival with an enticing challenge of pleasure.
between his legs, his own length aches, trying to pull back and remind him that Will has a very good chance of getting what he wants, and seeing Louis Guiabern fall apart at a single touch. he's not used to it – still, despite their trysts – and thus Will certainly has the upperhand, but Louis has always been a risk taker. perhaps he'll fail, but he will fail in such a blaze that he will drag Will down into the depths of such a beautiful, beautiful sin with him. ]
[ Louis's insistent touching soon elicits a gorgeous moan out of Will's throat. Somehow, the man always knows just the right way to touch him, just the way he likes to be touched. It's intoxicating, too, to watch him — to see the way Will, too, absolutely falls apart with pleasure, and just the barest hint of it. There's no doubting that Will has enjoyed every second of their illicit trysts, the way his eyes glaze over, and his lips part in eager anticipation of more.
He bucks his hips faster into Louis's hand, selfishly chasing his own pleasure — but then Louis cruelly holds his hips still, and Will whines, straining against the man's big palms. He makes such sweet, pleading noises when he's inconvenienced; it's really very funny.
Will leans in, catches Louis's lips with his own. Kissing, so close to begging. Drink it in, Louis had said, but why does Will feel more as though he's the fine wine that's been poured into a goblet for Louis to swirl and toy with before imbibing?
Stubborn, Will still makes no moves to please Louis. But he kisses the man with reckless abandon, leaning into his body, draping both his arms around Louis's shoulders, curtained by the waves of his fine blond hair. He catches Louis's tongue with both his lips, sucking on it in stuttering sweet sloppy motions until he slips off the tip of it, saliva connecting his lip to Louis's.
The man he has sworn to kill looks so good, finally tousled with a slight flush and all the more attractive for it.
[ soft, sweet noises that want more, that make Louis want more. he's so daring and hungry for a small thing, ravaging in his desire as he takes Louis' mouth for his own again and again. if Will is the wine, Louis will never empty the cup, as it seems bottomless in need. as a self-made man of power, he's been lusted after by many, though curiously denied all. he could say that he's never been desired, but that wouldn't be true, but what would be true is that he has never felt desired like this. there is a carnal satisfaction in it, one that catches in his stomach in a heated, uncomfortable way, then throbs between his legs.
Will is testing him, but Louis does not want to give him the satisfaction – not yet. in ways his body betrays him, beneath his clothing his nipples rub up against the fabric in a way he doesn't usually notice until they're together, and his pants tighten around his cock. there's a light flush across his cheeks – from the heat, certainly – that looks like he's been posing for an oil painting.
his lips part and he lingers in the feel of the saliva pooling on his tongue, the little strand of fluid that connects the two of them together. drawing it out a little more it snaps before he licks his lips, drawing whatever mixture of it they created into his mouth. ]
You're feeling confident.
[ he says with a low drawl, as if he's caught Will red handed.
as if to tempt him into answering, Louis has already undone the buttons of his trousers, his long fingers inching down to touch what he had clothed. instead he cups his cock and balls in his hand, putting a gentle pressure on him as they play this little game of chicken. ]
How about now?
[ though he knows he's being reckless, much like a battle, he's left his own vulnerabilities open. he may be clothed, but there are sensitive spots that Will has found in their couplings, and he's become good at finding them, given Louis' preference for keeping his uniform on. they're there, behind his ears and down his throat, in the soft waves of his hair now tousled and spilling over his shoulders.
no, they are equal here, as much of a show as Louis puts on. ]
[ Fuck, fuck, fuck. His body is already so taut with anticipation that his spine arches like a bow's curve beneath Louis's hand. It doesn't even matter that Louis isn't touching him in earnest yet; just that gentle pressure, that sweet promise of touch against his cock, is enough to make him shiver with need and think of all the times they've done this before, indulged in the other, lain in each others' pleasure.
Even so. Will is not the type who will not launch a counterattack. The young elda surges forward, pressing more kisses to Louis's mouth, less heated this time and more pleading, warm soft sweet needy kisses of the sort that Louis is surely not in any way used to receiving. So warm. How is it that Will always makes him feel desired like this? Treasured, adored, beloved —
Still. Those loving kisses turn into something vicious soon enough. Once Louis's mouth is not enough for him, Will kisses those sensitive spots down his neck, nestled deep where the flaxen waves of his blond hair usually hides his nape from view. His tongue flicks out and laps, kittenish, along responsive skin. His breath is warm and wet and so, so promising. One finger trails from the top of Louis's scalp down the back of his ear, slides down the smooth soft skin along his neck. ]
Just say you want me...
[ He wants to win. He wants Louis to beg.
And yet, by goading him into begging — perhaps Will is the one who is truly pleading, here. ]
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It's hard to breathe; his heart feels as though it's leapt into his throat, cloying, choking him. He didn't notice, didn't feel Louis in the room with him at all until suddenly his presence was impossible to ignore, looming up against his back.
Why are you here? he wants to ask, but the answer is blatantly obvious; Will knew that Louis would notice that he left the party, so now he is only in a crisis of his own making. I do like it, he almost wants to say, as though that would distract from the fact that he is, at present, in the middle of going through Louis's things. I had to lie to them is the only real thought on his mind, and he can't very well blurt it out loud. ]
...I do like it...
[ It's the only safe thing he can say, the only safe thing he can do. Pretend that everything is fine. It might even work, if only he could sound convincing about it. But he can't get himself under control. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, and his voice is trembling, too. ]
I just... didn't want to bother you with something so trivial.
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though, Louis supposes, the answer to that is rather complicated. not complicated in the way of answering, no, Louis knows what's complicated in how the answer is received. I did not curse the prince has been repeated by him since he was a decade younger, once in desperation, then in defiance, and now not at all, an echo against the walls of the palace. the lie of his supposed deceit has woven itself so intricately into politics that it seems known fact rather than debate, one he will not argue. how would he? he has no proof other than his freedom – if Forden had an ounce of it, he'd certainly be exiled by now, if not with a bounty on his head. that Forden hasn't been able to come up with anything convincing is telling.
yet absence of evidence does not prove his innocence, or he'd be vindicated by now. in a situation like this, he wouldn't be able to convince Will anyway, would he? those are all things Will needs to find out for himself and come to that conclusion.
Fidelio called him a fool for keeping this boy so close, but as Louis watches him intently, he has to respect his nerve. there's a thrill in their little dance, and now Will is caught like a rabbit in a fox den, cornered against a shelf of beloved books as if he's about to be devoured. it's a small victory for Louis, but that's all he needs to relish in it.
just above him, but close enough to get small flutters of the way his clothing moves, or the linger of his scent. ]
Was the party too intense for you? There are those in attendance I also find rather prying and tactless. If someone has insulted you, I would hear of it.
[ with a gloved finger, he tips up Will's chin to examine his face. despite all he knows, he doesn't mind giving Will a way to wiggle out of this. that he has him here, at this moment, is enough for him. ]
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This could end so badly for him, his traitorous brain decides to remind him. Fidelio's voice, mocking, reminds him of the way Louis uses people for magic experiments. ]
I... I don't...
[ What is Louis playing at? Is he drawing this out for his own sadistic pleasure? Does he want to watch Will try to lie his way out of this? The "spy" is caught and he knows it; he can't imagine that Louis doesn't know it, too. That there are no innocent explanations for Will having snuck into his room behind his back, during the soiree, with the clear expectation that Louis would be too busy to find him here.
What hurts the most, he thinks, is that he knows this should not be his concern — that he should, perhaps, push Louis's hand away, try to flee, curse his name, tell him to give the prince's life back to him — but for some reason, some terrible awful cursed selfish reason, Will can only think to ask, in the smallest possible voice: ]
...Are you mad at me?
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(later, when Louis is spurned and desperate, he will feel differently about this. even then, Will is not someone to be experimented on. no, he deserves better than that. he deserves the outcome of those experiments in all their glory.)
the hand at his chin cups his cheek, a thumb tracing over the shape of it. still, Louis is fond of him. there are ways that Will is familiar, as well, with large, mismatched eyes that still don't know the truth. ]
No. [ then, curiously, he replies: ] You may stay here as long as it suits you.
[ permission to continue searching for whatever he was looking for. for all Louis seems to set traps, they are never as blatant as this, though the rest of the group would insist. there is nothing to incriminate him, and thus nothing that would serve Will's purpose, as much as he looks. ]
My quarters are yours to explore.
[ there's a surprising warmth to his voice, an unspoken invitation. ]
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He can't explain it to himself. Why he wants this, why he seeks this. But Will, shaking, lunges forward, presses his head against Louis's chest. Hugs him. Holds him. Embraces him. Squeezes him tight, as though Louis has just saved him from some terrible evil, and Will has no other way of expressing how grateful he is to have been rescued.
Which is — stupid, really. Louis is the very evil from which Will needed to be saved. This is the man who could have killed him if the idea of Will's betrayal displeased him enough — so why is Will rushing to his arms for comfort?
I wasn't supposed to be afraid to die, he thinks. And then: It is not that I am afraid to die, but I'm afraid of what I'm becoming.
He hates the fact that he knows Louis can feel him trembling.
He takes a shaky breath. Swallows hard on his throat, loud enough for it to be heard in the quiet of the suite. Clings until he stops shaking. ]
...
...You must think... that I'm a fool.
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(he'll have to send him away after this. there is no world where he has the luxury of such affection — no, there is a world that needs to be changed. perhaps if Will catches a glimpse into the truth, there may be a hope for them. that is a desire to fleeting to grasp.)
Louis watches him with half-lidded eyes, bright under his dark lashes, petting his hair with a gloved palm. the boy who directly challenged the church seems so small in his arms, but Louis knows how dangerous he is. he knows how this will end.
yet ... yet ... ]
You would not be among my ranks if you were not at least somewhat foolish. I do not employee puppets.
[ what will he do now? Louis wonders, since he's been caught so blatantly. ]
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What is this? What is he doing? Does he really love Louis, or is he merely a slave to pleasure?
(Pleasure alone does not explain the way Louis is holding him, caressing him, as though nothing in the world could be more beautiful or more precious.) ]
That's true. You do love boldness.
[ He can say that so casually. As though he knows Louis so well.
Gradually, and with one last clinging sigh against Louis's chest, Will relents, and lets go of the man. He is still terrified in some strange corner of his heart, but at the very least, Louis has all but promised that he won't kill him. ]
...
[ Will's eyes, normally so round and large and inquisitive, lower to the ground. There's no point in hiding, he thinks, but neither does he want to admit that he was here for nefarious purposes. Above all else, he will not implicate his friends in guilt. He should ask about the formula — but doing so will let Louis know that the prince still lives.
Instead, Will seizes on a personal matter: ]
...Why... do you have that book, Louis...?
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well, Will did ask, and Louis will not lie. ]
Before the time that I was taken beneath the wing of the military, the book lead me to where I am today. A man gave it to me when I was young, though I couldn't say it was because he believed or disbelieved in the words inked across its pages. Perhaps he merely gave up on them.
[ there's a quiet bitterness in his voice, but he continues: ]
From the way you ask of it, you know of its contents.
[ Will should be afraid. eventually, the two of them will clash, they may even kill one another. Louis believes he can sway Will, eventually, but he is running on borrowed time, and it ticks away as each small part of his ambition clicks into place.
they want the same for the world, don't they? ]
I doubt the church has forgotten about it, as the book itself is labeled as dangerous and banned across the nation. To think that ideas of utopia that stroke the imagination are so dangerous to a force that claims to be descended from divinity.
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But does it have to be like that? he imagines asking into a system that would question why he cares. Can we not dream of happier ends?
What would the prince do? Realistically, Will doesn't know. They were only boys when they last spoke... ]
...I thought they were all destroyed. [ His voice bears the heavy sound of quiet remembrance. ] I thought I had the only copy left in the world.
[ Will does not remember the burning of the village the way that Louis remembers it. In that way, perhaps, he has suffered less, and he would admit to that, if Louis ever had cause to question him on it. Yet as he speaks of the burning of the book (which he, as a creature of fantasy, feels more deeply than he himself is even aware of), there is a true and genuine sadness in his voice, as though he witnessed the burning of those books as vividly as Louis watched his family and village go up in flames. ]
I still want to build a utopia like that. I still want to dream...
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how would anyone move forward to a utopia like that?
Will doesn't move, but instead speaks of dreams with a distant sound to his voice, and Louis does believe it to be true. perhaps not in the same way, but there is no where that can be reached without a vision outside of the current situation. yes, there must be vision first, and that Will is here instead of dead or rotting away and hidden deep in the forest is telling. ]
Come here.
[ there's not much space between them, and it seems so easy now to tilt up Will's chin to kiss him. it's firm, with the lingering taste of whatever sweet wine Louis was sipping on during the soiree before he left.
there's no need to respond with words, because there's something beautiful about kissing the mouth that just uttered such words. ]
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Why is it that this sort of thing makes him feel even lighter and warmer than his memories of the prince these days?
He can't do this. Shouldn't do this. The mission is being compromised, and he was never meant to be more than the mission. At the same time, Louis's kiss feels right — warm and sweet and a little heady with alcohol, a flavor which Will has never been allowed before, and its taste is dizzying, like sin. Even if he had the heart to jerk back — and he doesn't — Louis's grip on his chin is firm and unyielding. Much like the man himself.
Will gives in. He doesn't respond with words, either — he simply parts his lips to accept Louis's kisses, begging for more with each eager movement of his tongue against the blond's. His fingers clutch at Louis's shirt, seeking what little purchase he can find along its perfectly tailored surface. I want this, he seems to be saying, despite the fact that it almost hurts to admit it. I need this.
His appetite is always the stronger, between the two of them. It was Louis who pulled him in first, true — but it's Will who has always begged for more, more and more and more until they've let the day slip by to indulge in the other.
Louis, Louis, Louis. Will wants to understand him so badly. How can be be this gentle, and yet so cruel? What does he want in this moment, when he did not even bring judgment upon Will's obvious betrayal? ]
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the gloved hand at his chin wanders dangerously down his throat, holding him gently as if he could strike at any moment, but he doesn't. he doesn't, and instead, he just takes more of the kiss, exploring the inside of his mouth and teasing his tongue. before long, Louis has Will pressed up against the bookcase, his hands boldly wandering lower to trace his chest, his waist, his hips.
there will be those that notice his absence – those that notice Will's – but he has never been one to care. he has put himself in a position where other people's opinions no longer matter, and he can do as he likes. there is always a little threat to their coupling, isn't there? it's possible that Will's friends will find them, and then he's certain that something interesting would come of it. (he doubts they'd blow their cover so boldly, though.)
he can feel Will's hands searching along his uniform for something – either to grip or to start removing, and he smiles in the kiss, because he falls so easily into it. they both do. this is as reckless on Louis' part as it is on Will's, perhaps more so, if Fidelio were to be heard. where they differ is while Will questions the pleasure, Louis does not care.
standing over Will, Louis lowers, just a bit, to pull back from the wet kiss and part his lips at the thin line of exposed skin just beneath his collar. ]
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Even so, he is undeterred. His appetites are fresher and more avaricious than ever. Will's fingers finally remember how to take Louis's clothing apart; he wants to work at the buttons across Louis's chest, pull them apart to reveal inches of alabaster skin and perfectly sculpted marble, but he's learned from past experience that the man does not seem to favor having his body exposed, so Will chooses instead to work at his own buttons. As Louis mouths at him, he loosens the collar of his jacket, then pulls it off his shoulders, surrendering his body for the man's exploration, his investigation, his use.
A spy, caught in his betrayed lord's bedroom — stripping for forgiveness, falling on seduction to save him. It would be poignant if Will were not so willing. The truth is, he doesn't know if he's trying to save the mission, or only trying to indulge himself. Louis is so intensely demanding, so pleasurable to please. Will lets his coat drop to the ground; he buries his nose in the man's hair.
He always, always smells so good. Somehow not of anything in particular, no foreign or artificial scent, but sort of woodsy, sort of green. Warm, in the way that washed linens are. Will always feels so comforted in Louis's embrace. As if he's somehow familiar, but then, Will can't fathom why that should be so. ]
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all that's left is the black shirt, and Louis is devilish and wanting, firm and direct in his desires when he traces a thumb over a nipple through the fabric, teasing it until he can feel the shape under his clothing.
Will wanted to talk about the book, but not enough to interrupt the next kiss. they have time, but neither enough to dawdle before they're summoned back to the party – and Will, well, he has a mission to complete. Louis has an idea, though he may not fully know the extent, and certainly does not care. he's not the perpetrator of the crime that center of the group's intent, and there's nothing in the Charadrius that would implicate him. despite that, he's certain that they'll keep looking, and he wonders if Will may begin to question certain rumors taken as truths, but that remains to be seen.
when Will leans forward, Louis slips an arm just under his hips, lifting him up off his feet how they've both accustomed themselves to it. there's a thrill at the idea of taking Will up against the bookshelf, but he could also have him anywhere. the plush, red chair that Louis loves to lounge in so much is not far, and he settles himself lavishly in it with Will on his lap.
Louis is in the race to be king, though his ambitions reach further than just ruling. however, in a moment like this, he does feel like royalty with Will on his lap. ]
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Will is already hard and aching in his pants by the time Louis settles him into that beautiful armchair, and the man's gorgeous lap. He knows he shouldn't be so lascivious, that Louis may not even like the idea of him being so whorish and wanton, but he can't help himself; he grinds his cock into the man's groin, as if desperate to signal his eagerness, and how badly he wants this. The one comfort he tells himself is that Louis has always liked it when he's bold.
Will boldness win him the truth? Can boldness save the prince's life? If nothing else, he can admit that he wants to satisfy Louis. Craving sex with Louis may very well be the only selfish thing Will has wanted in his short life. ]
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like a big cat, Louis leans back in his seat as Will presses into him. whenever the two of them part, he's never aware of his own loneliness, but it seems to show up again when Will spreads his legs over his lap and reminds him how beautiful affection can be. it scares him, in a way, but not enough that he won't face it – or perhaps he doesn't want to deny the pleasure. (later, he'll send Will away.) he cups Will's cheek in his hand, tracing his thumb over his parted lips. his breath is light, and his mouth is sweet.
with an arm he draws him in, takes his hip his hand and drags him down as Will grinds against him, letting the movement roll through his body. his breath comes in long, fills his chest and comes out in a hah of warmth. ]
You're already ready.
[ there's a playful cadence to his voice, as playful as someone like Count Louis can have, but it's there nonetheless. ]
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[ He feels as though he's going mad. Something about Louis is surely driving him mad, urging him onward, towards pleasure, and towards the loss of all reason. It's more than the pleasure that he feels in his own body; it's wanting that pleasure to course through Louis, too. It's the way he takes satisfaction in hearing Louis's breath catch in his throat and come out in a half-laugh, one that reminds Will in an intoxicating way that the man is only mortal, and even he can be caught, killed, seduced, defiled.
(Of all the possibilities, Will doesn't know which one he wants more.)
Will himself breathes out hard, too, letting himself sink further into debauchery. Seeking support and someplace to put his weight, he places one hand, daringly, over the curve of Louis's left breast. Squeezes it. Imagines what it would be like to sink his hand into that chest, and tear his heart out.
And yet — somehow, before that, and against all reason, Will thinks that he'd like to ride Louis's cock, and make him taste heaven instead.
The young elda lowers his mouth and claims Louis's lips again, licking delicately into his mouth, all tantalizing wetness, grazing his teeth along the man's bottom lip as he pulls away. ]
I'm always ready, the second I feel your hands on me...
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is that it – is the accomplished Count Louis Guiabern the prey to this kind hearted elda boy? wouldn't that be something?
Louis takes the wrist of the hand on his chest as if in challenge, keeping his gaze locked with Will's until they're connected again. it's warmth and teeth this time, a messy wetness that feels tainted. when Will pulls back, Louis draws his arm up and takes him closer to the elbow, drags him in again and clicks his teeth together. ]
Come, then. I will put my hands everywhere.
[ from his wrist to his elbow, and then from his elbow to hooked beneath his shoulder. he won't allow Will to go far. long fingers find their way under his shirt, dance just up his spine as he urges their hips together. there's a quiet hum in his throat when they grind together, as Will isn't the only one who's already ready. ]
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Maybe thinking that is only proof that Louis is the one who's driven him crazy instead.
Still. He feels no shame, or at least, he's forgotten what shame should feel like. He lets Louis's long fingers dance over his body; he even sits back and pulls his shirt off of his own volition, as if to signal exactly how eager he is, or perhaps how desperate. Then he's on top of Louis again, kissing him fiercely, all appetite and dizzying lust for such a small thing.
In all the times they've coupled, this might be the first time Will has been the one to be so hungry. He rubs his groin against Louis's until he feels the man fully at attention, even laughs a little when he takes stock of just how big and thick his lord is; shirtless and stripped bare, he rocks his hips the way some men ride horses, only this time the beast beneath him is none other than Louis Guiabern, and he, the nameless elda boy, acts as if he's come to claim his prize. ]
Everywhere...?
[ He acts so innocent, even when he's being so sinful. Deliciously delicate, impossibly slim, Will leans back in a way that makes his hips look more curvaceous than ever, then takes hold of the hand that isn't dancing up his spine, placing Louis's large palm firmly over the bulge between his legs, as if to promise him that he has a gift waiting for him there. ]
Even here?
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with his shirt off and no barrier between Louis' hands and Will's body, he finds the spaces he seems to love to trace: the curve of his waist, the plump shape of his rear, his thumb in the dip of his spine until he can feel the little hairs on his body stand on end. he is enamored as much as he first saw him when he defied the church, his eyes on him just as insistently as his hands. ]
You're getting impatient.
[ where he was once lounging, Louis sits up just slightly, leaning forward in to Will who's getting so deliciously eager. he rubs his cock through his pants, finding the shape of it much like he found the shape of other parts of Will's body. he's soft, responsive, and Louis can tell that he desires something deeper (so flagrantly stripping and mewling, as if a heat had arisen in him). the hand that was once at his spine presses against down against his ass, urging him to thrust into his hand, even with the fabric between them.
Louis is close enough that there's a hot, panting breath that matches Will's movements, one that says he may be imagining what Will is – the other elda on top of him, riding him with a growing sense of urgency. as if to tasting him in preparation to devour him, Louis drags his tongue from between his pecs and up his throat. ]
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So are you...
[ The hand on his lower back, between his legs — the hands in his sensitive, intimate places only drive Will's want to blazing heights. But, coquettishly, he refuses to touch Louis in turn. He hears that hot wet breath tinging Louis's voice, he sees the desire dancing in his eyes like sunlight shining through emeralds — but even so. Deliberately, he wants to make Louis ache. ]
And I love to see it.
[ He's never quite sounded like this before. Voice husky, low, seductive. He has one hand on the man's chin as he whispers directly into the shell of Louis's ear, caressing his jawline; he speaks so low and so directly into his lover's eardrum that it's almost as if he's making a conscious effort to tickle Louis's brain. ]
I want to see how you look when someone makes you wait.
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as Will lowers to press down into his hand again, Louis stills him until their eyes align. there are two that can play at this little push and pull, and it seems to light a spark inside of him. he tilts his head, his gaze steady on him, leaning in closer until their foreheads are touching. ]
How long will that be?
[ he asks, his voice heady, the same quiet lust behind the phrase he had uttered early at the party: drink it in. ]
Will you endure long enough for such a prize?
[ deliberately, he runs his thumb up Will's cock, along the length and to where he knows the head to be. there's a slight urgency to his touch now that Will's so close, openly touching his face and brushing against his hair. he's hungry for more of it, coaxing it out of his would-be rival with an enticing challenge of pleasure.
between his legs, his own length aches, trying to pull back and remind him that Will has a very good chance of getting what he wants, and seeing Louis Guiabern fall apart at a single touch. he's not used to it – still, despite their trysts – and thus Will certainly has the upperhand, but Louis has always been a risk taker. perhaps he'll fail, but he will fail in such a blaze that he will drag Will down into the depths of such a beautiful, beautiful sin with him. ]
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He bucks his hips faster into Louis's hand, selfishly chasing his own pleasure — but then Louis cruelly holds his hips still, and Will whines, straining against the man's big palms. He makes such sweet, pleading noises when he's inconvenienced; it's really very funny.
Will leans in, catches Louis's lips with his own. Kissing, so close to begging. Drink it in, Louis had said, but why does Will feel more as though he's the fine wine that's been poured into a goblet for Louis to swirl and toy with before imbibing?
Stubborn, Will still makes no moves to please Louis. But he kisses the man with reckless abandon, leaning into his body, draping both his arms around Louis's shoulders, curtained by the waves of his fine blond hair. He catches Louis's tongue with both his lips, sucking on it in stuttering sweet sloppy motions until he slips off the tip of it, saliva connecting his lip to Louis's.
The man he has sworn to kill looks so good, finally tousled with a slight flush and all the more attractive for it.
Will's eyes lid with utmost desire. ]
...What do you think?
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Will is testing him, but Louis does not want to give him the satisfaction – not yet. in ways his body betrays him, beneath his clothing his nipples rub up against the fabric in a way he doesn't usually notice until they're together, and his pants tighten around his cock. there's a light flush across his cheeks – from the heat, certainly – that looks like he's been posing for an oil painting.
his lips part and he lingers in the feel of the saliva pooling on his tongue, the little strand of fluid that connects the two of them together. drawing it out a little more it snaps before he licks his lips, drawing whatever mixture of it they created into his mouth. ]
You're feeling confident.
[ he says with a low drawl, as if he's caught Will red handed.
as if to tempt him into answering, Louis has already undone the buttons of his trousers, his long fingers inching down to touch what he had clothed. instead he cups his cock and balls in his hand, putting a gentle pressure on him as they play this little game of chicken. ]
How about now?
[ though he knows he's being reckless, much like a battle, he's left his own vulnerabilities open. he may be clothed, but there are sensitive spots that Will has found in their couplings, and he's become good at finding them, given Louis' preference for keeping his uniform on. they're there, behind his ears and down his throat, in the soft waves of his hair now tousled and spilling over his shoulders.
no, they are equal here, as much of a show as Louis puts on. ]
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Even so. Will is not the type who will not launch a counterattack. The young elda surges forward, pressing more kisses to Louis's mouth, less heated this time and more pleading, warm soft sweet needy kisses of the sort that Louis is surely not in any way used to receiving. So warm. How is it that Will always makes him feel desired like this? Treasured, adored, beloved —
Still. Those loving kisses turn into something vicious soon enough. Once Louis's mouth is not enough for him, Will kisses those sensitive spots down his neck, nestled deep where the flaxen waves of his blond hair usually hides his nape from view. His tongue flicks out and laps, kittenish, along responsive skin. His breath is warm and wet and so, so promising. One finger trails from the top of Louis's scalp down the back of his ear, slides down the smooth soft skin along his neck. ]
Just say you want me...
[ He wants to win. He wants Louis to beg.
And yet, by goading him into begging — perhaps Will is the one who is truly pleading, here. ]
Just say you crave me, and I'll be yours.
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