"Why the black gloves?"
From his lewd and sprawling position in his blue-velvet throne, Prince Viloftira asked this of his crouching, busied companion in front of him, a folded, bejeweled hand underneath the jut of his chin. Pierre glanced up at him through long bangs, tugging the hem of the satin, dark fabric over the ball of his wrist.
"Blood stains, my Lord," he said simply, lowly. The prince's sapphire eyes lit up charmed.
"My, you are quite the clever one, aren't you?" Viloftira grinned widely, exposing a fang, and patted his armrest on his right side with the tips of his first two fingers. "Come here for a moment, Pierre."
The yellow-blond boy obeyed immediately, coming to bow beside the throne, "Lord Vilof…?" He yelped — high-pitched, indignantly — when his ponytail was tugged at casually. Prince Viloftira watched with amazement as his attendant stumbled away to the wall behind the gilded throne, his expression twisting with a medley of emotions, and his features flushing darkly.
"I was merely jesting… Are you…?" The blue-haired prince stifled back a laugh, a corner of his mouth twitching with the effort. "Are you ticklish?" The outraged flush reddened further. Pierre stammered out an incoherent reply, fumbling with his own fingers, turning his head to the side, and still refusing to move from the palace stone wall.
With a flash of dark cloak, Viloftira hovered over him, annoyance etched to his face. Oh, he could not stay as such for long. Pierre was too…captivatingly beautiful to be scolded when he was embarrassed. Those feminine, trembling eyelashes half-lidded over chestnut-colored eyes. His pouting, slim mouth.
And his delightful smell… like that of fragranced cream and light, zesty sweat…
"Haah…!" Pierre gasped breathily, clawing the wall behind him uselessly, tilting his neck away from where his companion hungrily tore away his ivory collar-ribbon and pressed warm, fiendish lips to the space of his exposed collarbone. The tip of a moist tongue worked the groove of soft, reddening skin. "Ah—!"
"You cannot work up the nerve to deter me, can you?" Viloftira growled faintly with his zealous mouth against the withering boy's earlobe, burying his hands in silken yellow hair, and in absolute ecstasy to taste this delectable, mannish flesh before him. To give into this dark temptation building.
When one of the prince's aggressive hands touched his narrow, heaving waist, shoving it firmly to the wall, the panting boy thrust Viloftira off of him, right hand going for the handle of his sword.
"There it is…" Pierre dropped his eyebrows, confused as the other man began to praise him, sapphire eyes placid. "…That fighting spirit of yours again. Yes. Good. It will come in handy on our journey together." Prince Viloftira licked his lips subtly, his cat-like grin returning as he asked, reclining back into his throne, "...No hard feelings now?"