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from the throne kings look not down so proudly

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The first thought to pass through Philip’s mind when Rodrigo raised his voice was that anger looked striking on Posa.

Marquis had stayed behind for the audience as per the King’s order, and of course Philip had noticed that the man – boy, really, he could not be older than his son – was handsome; to overlook that would be impossible. It had been an absent-minded observation though, something Philip’s mind had glossed over and dismissed as he’d had other matters to address in that moment.

Now however, as he watched Rodrigo draw a heavy breath, it came back to hit him with full force. Philip took in Rodrigo’s dark, gleaming eyes and the angry flush on those still somehow boyish cheeks and felt something move in him - something that had lain dormant in his chest for decades.

Rodrigo’s furious outburst, his indignance, had stunned Philip into silence; he did not even notice he had taken a few steps forward until he found himself standing almost uncomfortably close to Posa, studying him through heavy-lidded eyes. He truly was a wonder, Philip mused, glimpsing a flash of gold in Posa’s eyes when Marquis turned his head just so. It took exceptional bravery to talk with Philip in such a manner; to throw one’s opinion of the King directly into his face with no regard for the consequences. What a brave, honest, unique soul must he have been to dare to contradict Philip and risk his fury. The man fascinated Philip, intrigued him, drew him in more than he would be willing to admit.

Posa’s flame seemed all-consuming and it would not be long until it reached Philip’s heart; Philip found himself eagerly anticipating the onslaught.

He glanced down, eyes fixed on Rodrigo’s mouth, watching Posa’s lips move as Marquis warned him to avoid the title of the second Nero and only longed to reach forward and run his finger over them. What a lovely neck too; Rodrigo had raised his head in challenge and Philip found himself itching to wrap his hand around that throat, to dig his fingers in and leave bruises, marking that beauty as his.

Philip shuddered as lust flooded his stomach, white-hot and painful; heat shot through his limbs, warming them as if he had been deathly cold all these years and was only now coming to life. He wanted. The force of the feeling almost overwhelmed Philip, leaving him breathless like a punch to the gut.

Although Rodrigo turned out to be the angel he had been praying for so fervently, Philip’s feelings were anything but holy. He reached out and took Rodrigo’s chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, half-expecting him to flinch in fear or back away in disgust. Instead, Rodirgo merely held his gaze, a strange glint dancing in his intense eyes. Desire overcame Philip as he tightened his grip. He would make this beautiful man his, everything else be damned.