[Nikolai might take the barb more sharply, considering the state of his parents — he himself is the result of his mother's indiscretion, and Saints know how many bastards his father has left strewn about Ravka. But with those sure hands persuading his thighs to part, whose thoughts could snag long on one's parents and their ill-kept secrets?
His fraying patience shows itself in the low groan that sizzles in his throat as Cardan curls his hand around his shaft, in the forward push of his hips, fucking into those elegant fingers. He flickers between playing a role — the clay in Cardan's hands, pliant to any suggestion — and being only himself. A man ever desperate for touch, for attention. Any trinket that proves he is not condemned to be alone.
He huffs a breathy laugh, his head canting into the warmth of Cardan's taunting tongue. His fingers curl, pressing crescents into his palms, his bound hands helpless.]
They'd marvel at my diplomatic panache, I'm sure.
[Then he can't tell if the twisting in his stomach is shame for the scandal this scene would cause at court, or excitement for how far he's strayed from the strict confines of his public image.]
no subject
His fraying patience shows itself in the low groan that sizzles in his throat as Cardan curls his hand around his shaft, in the forward push of his hips, fucking into those elegant fingers. He flickers between playing a role — the clay in Cardan's hands, pliant to any suggestion — and being only himself. A man ever desperate for touch, for attention. Any trinket that proves he is not condemned to be alone.
He huffs a breathy laugh, his head canting into the warmth of Cardan's taunting tongue. His fingers curl, pressing crescents into his palms, his bound hands helpless.]
They'd marvel at my diplomatic panache, I'm sure.
[Then he can't tell if the twisting in his stomach is shame for the scandal this scene would cause at court, or excitement for how far he's strayed from the strict confines of his public image.]