TIME , WHICH MARCHES FORWARD , suddenly spins around them and regardless of not knowing what occurs on the opposite side of the door , it seems as if all time has stopped for them . slow motion as nicholas takes his precious time , getting to know every inch of clive that he has yet to meet . namely , for the moment , their mouth . plush , bright lips met by a king’s hunger for more . and he’ll take what he can get , every second more special than the last . even parting the small distance that they do , nick is left to pout – but redness overcomes him and soon , a smile replaces said pout . the compliments only further his complexion’s color , but his stomach is filled with butterflies . to be anyone’s , other than a king is a gift he has never known . a gift he loves very much so . a finger is lifted to swollen lips , smudged with whites and reds as nicholas tries to fix the portrait he’s painted . perhaps he is an artist after all ! ❝ i’ve … i’ve completely smudged this , ❞ a nervous chuckle followed by bashful giggles .
there’s a gasp emitted – a good gasp , the best of gasps ! his heartbeat rings in his ears and though difficult to hear , nicholas is truly thankful he understands clive’s words . pressing himself forward and into where his hand has been guided , he nods . ❝ god , yes … both … both of those … ❞ barely a whisper , grabbing at their gown to feel what lies underneath . ❝ to touch you … to please you … of how you sing when my fingers dance across your skin … ❞ his head is clouded with imagery and fantasy , all with the possibility of becoming reality . never has he felt so lucky . sweat beads on his forehead and though he would enjoy to continue feeling the other where his hand rests , nicholas uses them to untie the front of his shirt . with dressing as a commoner , he adorns less clothing . another strike of luck , he thinks . white cloth is lifted over his head and tossed farther away . his heart is in his throat , and yet he still attempts to speak , clearing his throat . ❝ may i undress you and help you slip out of that beautiful gown , my clive ? ❞ questioned as the king’s hands are already back on his bard .
FOND WORDS, the bridge between clive and the king, nicholas, their heart, tethering them together in a moment sweeter than a cherry dessert. hums at his highness mixing pigment with a touch, gentle, eyes heavy in adoration. “no,” they say decidedly, a small smile settling into place. all for him. “you’ve made me beautiful.”
the flinch in grip from nick comes as waves of relief, pools of it, oceans of it. and clive might be feeling emotion in whole bodies of water! it’s all so much so fast, crashing into nicholas with this fast-paced yearning! so they can’t quite help the stuttering sound pushed from the threshold of a smudged white throat, a sound for him, wanting him, asking for him. a thankful sound, even. please, they think, never take your hands off of me. “i’ll only ever sing for you, my heart, this i promise.” they say, whimsy, hips subtly swiveling and letting out a withheld breath once that touch is gone.
eyes find moving, working fingers, then into sight comes the stark of nick’s chest where clive is becoming a gaping, adoring shell of their usual theatrics. hands, hesitant, reach to touch. my stars, so hairy, so mighty. at the question, they’re snapped from their attempted exploration. their eyes meet his, bright with an idea. “my universe,” cups either side of his neck, beckoning him forward, backward steps. “i’m an entertainer by nature, you see,” they explain, urging his highness to take a seat on the side of the bed. clive slots between his sitting legs, and pushes the strap of their gown down one pale shoulder, teasing, face all delicately smug. “..and i’ve shown off for many men and women, all decent, none as beautiful as you.” certain, clive reaches for nick’s wrists, brings them to the curve of where hips and waist meet, urging him to feel them up and around, gown hitching with it. “i’ve unraveled at the thought of you, oh, it’s so embarrassing — in my dreams, you take me by my hips, you, all vivid and clear and set on what you want, and you make me yours that way.” clive picks up a sway in their hips like a leaf riding a breeze, back and forth as if to a tune but the room is only alive with the melody of their words and breaths. clive turns around as they sway in place, begins humming a song, somewhat hoarse. the second strap is pushed over the cliff of white, round, and the soft of the gown falls and halts at clive’s hips where the material tightens a smidge.