[Half of his mind follows the conversation, while the other half follows Cardan's hands. With diplomatic deference he tilts his head to bare his throat to the Faerie King's whims, holds still as he binds his wrists with the silk strip of his tie. Every decision sharpens his anticipation for the next. A gasp flies from his lips, unobstructed by shame, for the hot throb of Cardan's cock wedged against his ass. A pleased sigh follows for those demanding hands tugging away his trousers, his underwear, letting both slide into a pool of fabric around Nikolai's ankles. Obliging him, he steps out of the discarded garments.]
Then I wish you all the best in your retirement plans.
[His voice quivers with sexual electricity, but he's entirely sincere. The throne is a demanding office. Those who lack the desire to see the hard work through ought not clutch their crowns. How funny that for all the similarities that draw them together, they've chosen such divergent roads.
Even mid-tumble — arching into the obelisk of Cardan's body, seeking his lips, his touch — Nikolai can't help but ask:]
no subject
Then I wish you all the best in your retirement plans.
[His voice quivers with sexual electricity, but he's entirely sincere. The throne is a demanding office. Those who lack the desire to see the hard work through ought not clutch their crowns. How funny that for all the similarities that draw them together, they've chosen such divergent roads.
Even mid-tumble — arching into the obelisk of Cardan's body, seeking his lips, his touch — Nikolai can't help but ask:]
Who will succeed you?