Festivities
Hector:
“Like a million rupees,” he offers a teasing smile, “an’ then some.”
Hector’s hands place flat to Ajay’s chest, slipping up to knead the tension from the man’s chiseled shoulders. An impossibly fond grin tugs his lips up as their bodies connect, blue silk to pink, timid king to proud consort. The title had taken a long while to grow on him, but in small, tender moments like these, he’s beyond content to have accepted. Though the responsibility still terrifies him, he knows the peace and adoration of Ajay’s company is something he couldn’t–and won’t–trade for the world.
“You oughta relax, mi rey,” He presses forward to peck Ajay’s cheek, nearly having to rise up on his toes to reach.
“This is s’posed t’be a party, remember?”
“A million rupees is worth more today than it was yesterday because of you, y’know.” Ajay points out for the thousandth time. “Phasing out the heroin trade thanks to your family’s contacts has saved the Kyrati economy... I’d be out of a job without you.”
It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but what would’ve taken them years to accomplish has cost them only half that time and made room for other business ventures that the Kyrati people will thrive on. He leans down to make the next kiss easier, taking Hector’s chin in hand and kissing him full on the lips. Having Hector for a consort hasn’t just been good for Kyrat, however; the edge of fear amongst the Royal Army has eased into respect with the softening of Ajay’s normally abrasive edges. He’s not another Pagan. He couldn’t be.
