Showing him around your house for the first time, you take a detour to show Thragg some ballet moves. He joins you.
When first invited to your home, Thragg had been given a tour of the place.
It was large, plenty of room, and well-furnished. It was clear you'd lived here for years and left your mark for each and every day spent within it.
“I bought it as soon as I could afford it,” you explained as you showed him around, eyes a little distant. “Didn't waste any time moving out of my parents place.”
He'd been looking at some photos on the wall, taking in pictures of you and friends, accomplishments, memorable moments; he didn't spot any older figures who resembled you.
“I take it you are not close with them.” He observed, glancing down to spot your slight scowl.
While it was not a manor or castle, your abode was still large, rich; a suitable place for the Grand Regent of the Viltrumites to live in, for his heirs to be raised in.
Truly, he'd made a good choice in choosing you.
The tour took him all over, the first floor ending with you showing him your workout room.
“I don't do ballet as much as I used to,” you explain, turning on the lights. Smooth wooden floors shine under them, a wall of mirrors across from them. “But I still do, occasionally, and it's a good way to keep fit.”
Thragg looks around, taking in the space. It wasn't very large, but it was big enough for what you needed to do. There were railings along the mirrors, and a cabinet near the door– a glance within showed equipment for either ballet or workouts. Jump rope, small dumbbells, and so on.
He watches you approach the rails, gripping them and idly stretching, showing off as you raise a leg straight out, up and up and up, without a single bit of strain.
Being the epitome of strength, Thragg respects the display, though it also makes something hot clench in his belly.
He wonders if you're flexible in other positions too.
He approached from behind on silent feet, holding your gaze through the mirror. You don't even blink as he brackets you in against the rails, one hand gripping them while the other cups your thigh, feeling how your muscles tense and flex in this position.
Beautiful, he thinks, trailing a finger higher, up your calf and ankle, gently along the sole of your foot– your toes curl, and he wonders how they'd look by your ears, or on his shoulders.
Carefully, he shakes such thoughts aside. He's nowhere near the mating stage of this relationship, so all he's doing is teasing himself. He'll save such thoughts for when you're willing and ready.
As your leg lowers, you take a deep breath, slowly turning your head to look at him.
He stares down, drinking in your features, the lines of your throat, the width of your shoulders… he can't look away, observing you in your simple clothes and wondering what the rest of you looks like beneath it, taut and stretched and flexing.
“Would you show me more?” He asks, making a smile appear on your lips.
You change into your leotard for easier movement and begin showing him the basics, showing him the stretches and then basic moves.
His attention is a weighty thing, eyes unblinking as he drinks in your form with more thoughtfulness than any of your instructors ever did. He kneels as you push up onto your toes, observing with something like hunger in those dark depths of his as he takes in the strength required, the way your skin is taut over straining muscles.
After you fall back onto your heels, not able to stand on your toes too long without your pointe shoes, Thragg reaches for you.
You stare down at him, breathing slow and deep as he gently cups your calf, lifting your foot. He runs his fingers along it, making your breath hitch and goosebumps pebble along your skin. He gently strokes a vein on your foot, then touches your toes, looking at how flushed they are, blood rushing to them.
Taking a breath, you lick your lips, finding them dry. “Thragg?”
He glanced up, releasing your foot. “Apologies.” He said in that low tone of his, almost airy as he rises up; a shame, you'd liked the sight of him on his knees. “I have never seen anything like this before.” He said honestly, gesturing to you with something almost reverent. “You have a skill. I hope that, should we remain together, any children we have will take after you.”
His words flatter you, so you look away, cheeks hot.
“Yeah? Do you think about that a lot?”
You look at him again. “Children.”
He lowered his chin. “I do. You already know I desire children some day, but I admit, sometimes the desire for them is… immense. To continue my bloodline, to make life…” He trails off, gaze darkening as he got lost in thought, gaze solely on you.
It made your heart race, knowing he must be thinking of you in that context– pregnant, a child on your hip, maybe teaching a couple little ones…
You want kids too. But certainly not with the fervour he does. You're still figuring it out, trying to follow the strings of truth and untangle them from all the lies and half-truths.
But it's fine. You enjoy the occasional challenge. So long as it doesn't draw on too long.
With a hum, you blink and move on, looking him over as an idea hits you. Biting your lip, you glance towards the mirror wall, taking in how you and Thragg look standing together.
“Hey, Thragg?” He snaps out of it, raising a brow in question. “Do you want to do some ballet together? You're obviously very fit, but I'm still curious to see how you'd do.” You said while taking him in. It wasn't an exaggeration to say he was very fit, muscles upon muscles stacked together, but naturally; nothing like the empty air of a bodybuilder, but true strength.
He considers it, following your gaze to look at your reflections. He straightens to his full height, then nods.
Looking down at you, Thragg says, “Show me.”
It has been millennia since Thragg has last felt exhaustion or any kind of strain from training. At his age and power, he can fight for days without faltering, longer if he pushed himself.
And yet in the mere hour he spends following your instructions, he finds himself breathless.
Your hands are light, glossing over his sides and form as you guide him into the proper forms; your voice is sharp and clear as you speak, lips curled into a smile as you watch him. Your eyes sharpen too, and it makes your entire demeanour shift– he's no longer with his mate, but a teacher, a skilled dancer instructing him in their ways.
Without any use of his powers, he feels heavier; usually, he'd use his flight to make himself swifter, lighter. But he won't. He wants to experience this sport, this art, the way you do.
So he refrains, following your instructions with all the respect he would've shown his old instructors. Because regardless of species, regardless of superiority, Thragg can respect something like this– can respect how you force your limbs to remain straight or contort without strain, can respect how you push up onto your toes– delicate little things not made for holding all your weight– with or without those special shoes you'd shown him and not even blink.
It is torture. It is art. It is glorious.
By the end he's heated, not sweating but if he'd gone longer…
His breathing is heavier as he sits with you on the floor, eyeing his feet with narrowed eyes. He'd discarded his shoes and socks when this began, and now was eyeing the appendages with some offense.
He hadn't been able to push up onto them the way you had. In all his years, he'd never had to, so they were completely untrained. A weakness he'd never realized existed.
At his side, you took a deep breath, then leaned against him heavily, resting against his arm. It makes him go still, head jerking to look down at you.
“You did pretty well for a first timer.” You compliment, patting his thigh. “But you're not very flexible.”
“So I have realized…” He murmured, feeling a bit of shame at that. Something to fix, of course. Thragg was the epitome of Viltrumite perfection, he could not be less in any regard– nor could he be less than a human.
If you were flexible, then so must he.
“Don't worry though,” you say breathlessly as you move in front of him. “I'll help with that. Before long you'll be able to do all sorts of stuff.” You say, giving his ankle a squeeze.
Your promise is appreciated. Especially since it solidifies the fact you'll be seeing him more.
“Such as?” He asks, recalling all the ways you'd bent and contorted.
Then, with a playful smirk, you crawled forward, up his legs until you could press your hands to his chest. Willingly, he went down, looking up at you as you sat between his legs, gripping a thigh.
An odd flutter fills his stomach.
You hum, lifting it slowly, holding his gaze as you rest it against your chest, his knee bent over your shoulder.
“Until you can comfortably be bent in half, for one.” You say, leaning forward a bit. And he can feel the strain in the back of his thigh; another thing to fix. Yet he can't think with you positioned so provocatively above him. “Maybe a few other positions if you're willing…” You murmur, flirting. You're flirting with him.
With a harsh swallow, the Grand Regent cups the back of your head, finding himself more heated than before.
“I am more than willing to learn anything you'll teach me, little one.”
