[AU][C][M] Festivities

Fleck blinked and watched the Prince bow over his wrist.

The light brush of lips and his fingers twitching a little, and he bit his lip. It had been a long time since he'd felt a touch that tender and gentle.

"Thank you, my Prince," he murmured in response. What else could he say to that?

He wanted to run his kisses up the deep olive toned arm, his neck, and kiss the bitten lip. It was still a little swollen from where he asked him to bite it earlier.

This time he didn't give into his own whims.

He pulled back, sore lip between his own teeth and the goblet back in his hand. He drank again, taking no notice as the alcohol stung the split lip.

The loose bit of clothing around his arm was annoying him. He reached his other arm out for the slave to unlace, goblet still in his hands.

Fleck gently took the goblet from the Prince's hand and set it down on the table, then went about unlacing his other arm, once again draping the lace over his bare shoulder.

Then he stood, circling the Prince to get to the lacing that traced the curve of his spine.

He began unlacing it carefully, and let his hands slip under it, to the bare skin of the young man's shoulder blades, when he'd finished unlacing. His rough hands smoothed under the fabric, pushing it forwards over his shoulders to Richard could divest himself of it.

Richard watched with interest as the laces on his other sleeve was undone. It fell in his lap when it was done, his eyes fixated on the spot the slave had sat.

His spine prickled with anticipation as the laces were undone. As the calloused hands pressed against his bare back to push apart the piece of clothing his breath shuddered.

He didn't make a move to take it off. The piece of clothing hung on the edges of his shoulders.

He circled back around the Prince, carefully disentangling him from the shirt, and folding it, leaving it on the edge of the chaise.

Then he took a seat on the cushion again.

This was the most drunk he had seen his Prince. It was a curious thing, seeing him so unlike himself.

He wasn't going to push any luck, though.

Blue eyes were on the slave as he pulled the shirt off him. Then the sinking feeling of disappointment followed when the slave sat back down.

No matter how many times these past few days he had been naked, it was still strange sitting there bare chested like the other slave. No. Slaves.

His eyes wandered back over to the redhead and studied. Still doe-eyed with the pretty red hair. Any other noble would snap him up - or at least, Richard assumed.

He frowned.

The two sat, silent and patient under the Prince's gaze.

Though when the glare set on the redhead, he shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable. 

He wasn't use to this. Just sitting around like this. Especially with a drunk Master. Usually he was ordered to do something. But he'd just been sat here. He'd passed a bowl of fruit and sung, but apart from that? Nothing.

It was very strange for him.

Richard saw the slave shift but his glare didn't lift. The strong wine in his system justified his jealousy.

He didn't ease it until he drank again. Head tilted back until he drained the cup and he went to pour another. Only a drizzle came out. He drank it anyway.

"I'm gettin' more," his words were slurred now.

He stood to go to the door, stumbled, then trip over the low table in front of him. The bowls of fruits clattered to the floor and the clay jug smashed.

The redhead jumped when the Prince stumbled, yelping loudly and fretting, not knowing what to do.

Fleck attempted to hide his amusement as he drew himself to his feet and moved to crouch besides the Prince. One arm slid under Richard's body, propping him up.

"Are you okay, my Prince?" His tone didn't belay any of the amusement he felt, thankfully. He knew the Prince wouldn't appreciate him laughing at his drunken stupor.

Richard hummed and leant his head on the slave's tanned shoulder. His elbow hurt from where he landed on it and his shin hurt from where he caught the edge of the table.

"I need more wine." His slurred voice suggested he didn't.

He patted one of the slave's shoulders.

"These are nice."

Fleck gestured with his chin to a pitcher of water sat on the table, and the redhead scrambled up to pour the previously alcohol-filled goblet with water.

"Thank you, my Prince." He allowed a little smile as his other arm slid under Richard's knees, and he stood, carrying the drunk man with little effort back towards the chaise.

He laid him out the accepted the goblet of water the redhead held out to him, in turn holding it out to the Aldish man.

Richard made a small noise as his feet left the ground and he wrapped his arms loosely around the shoulders. His first thoughts were that he was floating. He only realised that the slave had lifted him up when he was placed on the chaise.

He stared down at the clear goblet of water.

"That's not wine." He took a sip anyway. "Jeff would have brought me wine."

"I am not Jeff, my Prince."

He knelt besides the Prince's hip, watching him drink with a careful eye. One could say he looked like he was hovering, like a worried partner, or a mother hen.

"Perhaps you should drink in moderation? Over indulgence often leads to unpleasant happenings."

Richard lifted a hand to pat the slaves face gently.

"Much more handsome than Jeff."

As sweet and gentle as the mountain of a man was, his face didn't seem it. He didn't look like the knight in shining armour that girls and boys dreamed of.

The slave did have that sort of face.

"But it gets so awkward," he sighed, he took another sip of water, most of his missing his mouth and drizzle down his chest. He didn't seem bothered.

He was patiently amused when his face was patted. "Thank you, my Prince."

Well, now he definitely knew the young Prince thought he was attractive. That was good to know.

"What gets awkward, my Prince?" he questioned with a patient smile, ready to hear what he was sure would be an amusing answer.

He huffed again, in an overdramatic way that only drunk people could manage.

"Everything," he declared as if that explained everything. His arm threw up in the air to gesture around the room, unlike the normal reserved Aldish body language. "This."

Everything? That was a whole lot of awkward.

"I think, my Prince, that you struggle with Ecrutezian's liberal ways. It's an honest cultural clash, and little of it is awkward." He switched to his fluent, lilting Aldish now, assuming that the Prince would start to struggle with translating soon.

His smile was back in place.

"I will help you with the awkwardness when I can, my Prince."

Richard patted the slave's face again. Then he dropped it down to unsteadily place a finger on the slave's lips, dragging his lower lip a little. He made a shushing noise.

"That's enough of that," he insisted, speaking back in his own language. It ran clearer than his Ecrutezian. He didn't have the added accent to his slurs. "No more 'my Prince'."

His lips parted slightly under the fingertip tracing them, and his tongue darted out without though, stroking the path that the Prince's finger had just taken.

"What... what should I call you then, my-?" He cut himself off before he could say 'Prince.'

This was one of the first orders he had been given. He didn't want to disobey it. But what should he call him, if not his Prince?

Richard traced the seam of the slave's lips. He didn't answer the slave's question. With everything dizzy around him, he had to fixate on something. That something was the slave's lips.

"I like these."

'These' curled upwards at the compliment, and parted over white teeth.

"Thank you." It was hard not to tack 'my Prince' to the end of the thanks. He would have to ask what he should call him instead again when the Prince was less... influenced.

His gaze flickered, turning towards the redhead slave for a second. "He should be used. For something. Lord Diegon won't be impressed if you accepted his gift but didn't use it." Speaking in Aldish, they could converse about this in a way that wouldn't compromise them.

And this was a topic that needed to be discussed before the Prince passed out.

"I don't want to."

He tilted his head and the room swayed, but he spotted the redheaded slave. He liked looking at the tanned slave more.

"Could just pretend. Good at that."

Pale fingers ran through the glossy hair to demonstrate, teasing the roots.

"We are good at it," he agreed.

"But the boy isn't, and his Master will ask. He will be punished, and Lord Diegon will take offence." After managing to create a decent-ish friendship with the noble at tonight's gathering, Richard didn't want to risk that.

"It's cruel to drag an unwilling player into this ploy when the boy has so much to lose."

Richard made a noise cross between a groan and a sigh.

He didn't want the boy to be hurt. He didn't want Lord Diegon to take offence. He also didn't want to deal with this conversation right now.

"What should I do?"

"Play with him," Fleck insisted.

Then his eyes turned to the slave, sat still, watching them but not understanding what they said at all.

"Or give me permission. As long as the boy is used in some capacity, his Master cannot be offended." Many Masters allowed their slaves to play together for their own entertainment. Him playing with the boy would be acceptable.