The Taste of Revenge

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"Either you genuinely wanted to sleep with me, or you're weak. To me it seems neither answer are... befitting of a future King, hm?" Ivory retorted as he tried to stifle the laugh caught in his throat. To hear these bold claims was surprising above all when they were the perfect words to use against the Prince. He said nothing though, instead focusing on something a bit lighter. If he dwelt upon his anger, there was nothing stopping him from slicing Elior's throat then and there-

A long blink, a laugh. Don't focus on that for now.

"You can call it having a big ego but it may surprise you that I've had quite the few partners flock to my door," Ivory countered as his grip loosened on the other's hair though hesitated to fully release his grip. "I cannot deny that your Nathaniel friend is quite attractive, no doubt. I can see why you ran off in the middle of a diplomatic dinner to let him ravish you, I'm sure." He let go of his grip, though his fingers didn't leave the other's body. No, Ivory's long and skilled digits instead moved to the Prince's collarbones, feeling them with a feathery touch.

He wanted to squeeze down, make those bruises hurt. Blink.

"I would have loved to see your father's reaction to knowing that you like your lovemaking to be so rough, Elior.," he said, his voice hushed as he leaned to speak directly to his ear. "I bet being tied up like this is more enjoyable than you'd like to admit, huh? Being tied up like an animal, easily at my command. You can say you only had a brief lapse in judgement but I know better. I may be no Nathanial but I know quite a bit on how to please my partner."

He then abruptly moved, his smile returning to his lips. He moved off the bed, leaving Elior to his own as he moved to sit in the adjacent chair again. He bit down hard on his food, humming in content at the truffles on his plate.

"Tell me when you'd like me to feed you more berries or truffles . You need to eat."
 
All the determination he possessed to continually brush Ivory aside, to relentlessly bombard him with insult after insult... all of it took a backseat when the other's approach transitioned into a physical touch. He could just about manage to appear disgusted by the feeling of his fingers through his hair because, however enjoyable it secretly was (which was a fact he was horrified by), because the sensation wasn't quite as intense as having Ivory's fingers lace across his skin, light but purposeful with intent.

He could give or take the taunting, admittedly. The constant references to his preferences was... irritating, if only because they were painfully accurate - and the only way Ivory had had that confirmed was because he had achieved the rarity of fooling Elior; of having him expose his desire and admit to every hidden preference he had in the belief that they would enjoy them together. Having that moment of vulnerability thrown in his face, reminded of his moment of weakness with such unrelenting cruelty, hardly appealed to him - he didn't want to be reminded of a moment of weakness when he was the first to argue that he was strong and unyielding.

Yet, would a strong person, capable of control and composure, be so easily dismantled by the mere touch along his collarbone and the threat of it becoming fiercer in nature? Rougher? He had spent years, since he was a mere child, being able to proudly boast (if only to himself) his capabilities when it came to composure, presenting a face to the world that hardly resembled his own.

And all it took for Ivory to chip away at it was a purred threat and a touch?

It was pathetic, laughably so, and Elior would reflect on the moment in horror at how weak he was for it. He wasn't the one to fall to his desires so dramatically; no, he was the one to cause that behaviour in his lovers, delighting in how his playful taunts made them lose whatever composure they held.

Being on the receiving end of it, having a taste of his own medicine, was... unsettling.

Unable to focus on portraying the fierce, vicious anger he was keen on keeping as close to the surface as he could, his eyes found themselves locked entirely on Ivory as he leaned in close. He couldn't detach himself from the feeling of his fingers, roughened from his work in the mines, tracing his collarbone; lingering against the light bruises put there by Nathaniel--

The spell was disturbed when Ivory unceremoniously peeled away from the interaction, allowing for clarity to return to Elior's otherwise clouded mind. He blinked, hurriedly at first, to pull himself out of his thoughts, out of that swirl of desire. Regret and inevitable disgust at how easily taken in he was arrived shortly after, his jaw tightening as he set his gaze firmly on the bedding beneath him - even if that concerted effort to ignore the sight of Ivory did little to ease the darkening red of his cheeks.

"My father would be appalled-- need I remind you that he's a raging bigot? He'd have a heart attack if he knew what I got up to-- which, admittedly, would be the ideal scenario," he callously grunted beneath his breath, flexing his fingers behind him as best he could to keep the circulation flowing. The movement caused a hiss, a wince, as the friction provoked the pain from the skin rubbed raw along his wrists, but it at least allowed him to focus on the situation Ivory had put him in. It was all well and good feeling inexplicably drawn to the man - but doing so distracted from the fact that he was keeping him captive; had him tied up in The Dark of all places.

It would fare him better in the long run to keep that fact centred in his mind.

"I'm not eating anything you offer me; you're welcome to it all. I'll be home before the end of the week. I can hold off eating until then."
 
"That is a horrible idea," reminded Ivory simply as he stabbed at the food on his plate, his eyes observing the menagerie he had been otherwise quite proud of creating, an almost childish pout forming on his lips. Sure, he was no chef but considering he hadn't had the training or experience and hadn't asked his mother for recipes before she passed? He was far too scared to ask his father, the concept of having that sort of conversation bringing him more fear than the threat of being put to death. He swallowed hard before returning his focus to the berries, his own not squished as he ate the thick skin whole. He watched, the berry bursting with a brief glow as he bit down and they popped against his sharp teeth.

"So you don't have the greatest relationship with your father, then? You clearly have convinced him otherwise. When you left to have your time with that Nathaniel man he defended you immediately. I was shocked, actually. I know for sure that if I had left the dinner and had been gone for that long, my father would have sought me like a silk moth, saying how I embarrassed him. If your father is willing to stand up for you like that, perhaps he isn't as bigoted as you think?" He questioned, not actually expecting a response and more so speaking out loud. He tapped his fingers against his cheek in contemplation, happy to divert his attention away from the... complicated feelings he had in his stomach.

"It doesn't matter much- and as for you leaving within a week, I doubt it. It takes quite a few days for letters from The Dark to reach The Light and I would assume the same could be said the other way. I would guess at least four days would be dedicated solely to transporting the letters back and forth. If your father does agree to my requests then he will surely have to collect resources, which might take another few days - or he'll send an army after me, if he refuses. Then I would have to kill you." He stated simply, an air of coldness as he explained to the other his plan. "Of course, we're both hoping for the former. You can return to The Light, pretend that you're a golden child until your father dies and then..."

There was a shrug as he paused to finish his food, sighing in content. He set the plate aside carefully for later before returning to the bed. He moved to grab the dagger, the blade gleaming in the light that emanated from the mushrooms outside. He felt the blade and hid his smile at the relief it offered before leaning over Elior, once again returning to that closeness -

only for him to cut the bindings around the others legs.

"The ones on your hands have to stay. I can't trust you to not strangle me in my sleep, so... I can retie them, but otherwise they have to stay." He stated, the same coolness to his words as he had in discussing Elior's possible murder. "Again, I suggest you try not to wander off though. You will get lost."
 
"I don't want to discuss my father anymore, you don't get it. He defends the son he thinks I am; he would unleash hell against the son he actually has. But I-- I'm done discussing it with you, you clearly haven't got a clue and, even if you did, I don't care to talk personal lives with the likes of you," dismissed Elior with a visible roll of his eyes, his head tilted back so the stare was directed instead at what he could make out of the ceiling above him.

There wasn't much he could do to entertain himself other than talk to Ivory, but the conversation had begun to teeter into territory that would only enflame his rage - and unlike the enjoyment he otherwise derived out of angrily insulting Ivory, this sort of anger, regarding his disgust for his father, would only introduce genuine emotion into proceedings.

And the less he showed of that vulnerability, the better.

Better to push it down and resurrect a wall around it than openly discuss it. Even if he decided, miraculously, that he wanted to open up to someone, explain the feelings of anxiety that he felt sporadically when he considered why he didn't respond to people the way everyone else did, or how crushing the loneliness sometimes was when he realised nobody actually knew him, he... couldn't. The adoration showered onto him fed his ego and kept him satisfied, but that didn't stop him from contemplating, often late at night, whether it meant anything; it was hollow and empty, the love shown to a figure he acted rather than one he inhabited.

But who was he supposed to open up to when he didn't trust -or even like- anyone enough. He had dug himself into a hole back home, encouraging everyone to believe he was a certain way. It came with its benefits, but there were the downsides - minimal ones he often ridiculed himself for conjuring up out of some forgotten place in his mind, but downsides nonetheless, one of which being the inability he had to confess how he felt without also admitting that everything The Light knew about him was a constructed lie; a facade that had successfully fooled them for years.

"Oh, stop threatening me, it's pathetic. You aren't scaring me; I'm not shivering in fear, Ivory. My father won't cooperate, that's a fact. He'll send in the army. Which means you'll kill me, if I'm to believe the threat is real-- but I don't see it happening so I'm not frightened, it's rather an easy thing to grasp. You won't kill me, even if the army storms in here, swords raised and swinging. Because you don't have the guts to see it through. You're the good guy," he drawled, deliberately slow and taunting as his head finally returned to face forward, a little energy renewed if his ability to deliver a callous remark was anything to go by. The confidence was a little falsified, of course - Ivory was unpredictable and hard to pin down, so it was incredibly likely that he would honour his threat and end Elior's life if he felt he was left with no choice

But admitting to that possibility was tantamount to admitting that he had given up; that death may as well arrive on his doorstep if it was such an inevitability.

The proximity drew his words to an abrupt stop because, once again, this was a move he couldn't predict the conclusion of. His first instinct was to believe that the threat of his life coming to an end was about to be honoured there and then, a brief flicker of genuine fear flashing his features before he could compose himself. The second instinct, and the one he disgusted himself by growing excited by, was that a kiss was about to be offered or, at the very least, some form of intimacy that Elior silently craved. Unwilling to break the tension growing between them, he remained silent even if his head grew cacophonous with the sound of his heartbeat, thumping loudly--

And then his ankles were freed from their bounds; that, apparently, being the extent of Ivory's business being so close to him.

The disappointment was painful.

"...Maybe I'll wander off and find someone willing to help me? Didn't you say someone called Emory lived relatively close by? Maybe they have a heart and would help a poor Prince, captured against his will? Don't underestimate how easily I can have your people eating out of my hand, Ivory. Playing the victim, the aggrieved, hurt, starved victim-- oh, it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."
 
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"You seem to forget, my dear Elior, that there are quite a number of people in The Dark who would love to see you killed," Ivory replied with a laugh, hollow in it's nature. He shook his head as well, his hair bouncing a bit as he did so, before enjoying a sip of water sat beside the chair he had taken as his bed.

"Emory is one of them, it's why we're close," he continued while locking his eyes on the other. His gaze wasn't sinister, more so machine-like in nature as he watched the Prince's every move. "We bonded over the mistreatment your father, your people-" his words hissed as they escaped, though only briefly "- have given ours. He's a good friend, so I'm sure he wouldn't kill you on sight if I told him… but if you go running off into the tunnels with your weak little eyes and he sees you? He might very well kill you immediately."

The smell of something cooking finally wafted into the bedroom, however faint; a garlicky smell, almost overwhelmingly so, with a hint of rosemary. For only a moment did Ivory look away before hurrying out of the room, cursing once again to himself when the spider legs seem to have boiled over.

Returning to the room with a large spider leg in hand, the lapidarist rubbed the back of his neck bashfully before sitting down and cracking the leg open with a sharp crunch, the sound in harmony with the slight crack of Ivory's back once he sat back down in the chair.

He was playing everything cook but his body ached for real sleep and medical attention to his leg, but no way in hell was he going to show that sort of weakness around Elior.

"I cut the restraints on your legs because they clearly hurt, and I gain no satisfaction in seeing yourself get hurt like that. Me hurting you is one thing, but this is different - and as for the hands, those will have to stay bound for now. So I recommend you stretch your legs a little bit, eh? The door is locked so unless you've got some skillful toes, you won't escape out there. Take in the home, or what's left of it if you wish - or stay in bed. Be thankful I'm offering you some freedom," he went on before stopping to eat the flesh within the leg, slurping up the meat with a satisfied grin. "You sure you don't want some? There are seven other legs…"
 
If he felt sick before, he felt the worst bout of nausea he had ever experienced now.

The sight of the large spider's leg was revolting, his stomach churning at the noises caused by cracking through to the flesh inside. It wasn't too dissimilar from the crab shell Elior had delighted in cracking through the day before, but he refused to recognise the similarity when, in his eye, there was a clear difference to be witnessed. Crabs were a delicacy; spiders were disgusting, and not to be eaten and devoured as though they were in any way a meal worthy of boasting of.

He couldn't even take some solace in the tempting scent of garlic and rosemary that filled the room; not when every attempt to imagine it belonging to a lamb joint, cooking in the oven, became overturned in an instant by the actual reality, the continuous noise of cracking and subsequent munching reminding him against his best efforts that the scent coated the leg of a spider; not the lamb he silently longed to be tucking into.

Ivory's words faded into the background as he lost the will to try and converse with him, if only to satisfy the craving he had to taunt him relentlessly. That required an energy he decided he no longer had - hours of sleep hadn't rebooted his batteries enough to make fighting with Ivory an easily accomplished feat, with the lack of a decent meal to help recharge him only contributing to the deterioration.

Even getting up and stretching his legs required him to have to shift himself up and move, and the thought of making that effort was more exhausting to him than the action itself would be. He knew he couldn't spend the entirety of his time in The Dark on the uncomfortable bed of stone, not if he wanted to spare himself the bruises the discomfort was causing him, but the challenge of overcoming the mental block now set firmly in place was one he wasn't willing to take on or tackle right now.

Not when turning to his side, legs shifted up to his chest and eyes firmly shut, was deemed a better use of his time.

He didn't particularly want to sleep and have the now present fear of Ivory honouring his threat and killing him as he slumbered coming to fruition, but sleep helped pass the time. It gave him release from having to be faced with both Ivory and his revolting idea of food and, when the nausea swirled within him as much as it did, it was worth the risk. And so, forcibly swallowing down the rise of bile in his throat, with the burning acrid sting causing him to visibly grimace, he kept his eyes shut in the hope he could convince Ivory he had dropped to sleep before he did.

The less he had to hear the other smugly taunt him, the better.
 
As much as Ivory's words seem to fade in Elior's mind, they did so in real life. He was observant, he had to be in his line of work, so it ought to come as no surprise that he could tell that Elior wasn't comfortable.

He wasn't supposed to be comfortable, he deserved every bit of his discomfort. He should be thankful he even had a bed to sleep on-

A blink, a hard sigh. He wasn't going to let his legs go to waste, the sound of the exoskeleton crunching being all that he allowed to fill the room. He would allow the other some quiet, hell he even offered some privacy by getting to his feet and leaving the room. He was feeling better, or at least he told himself so as he walked out of the room to the hearth. He could ignore his pain well, if he could focus on something else. Admittedly, sitting and doing nothing wasn't exactly Ivory's style - and a small part of him wanted to give up, return Elior to the surface and pray that everything would be okay. it wouldn't be, he was a terrorist. He kidnapped an annoying brat but he was otherwise innocent, right?

A bead of sweat rolled down the man's forehead, despite the chilly air the cave system supplied. He took a seat beside the fire and buried his face in his hands, his bright eyes observed now yet still offered a faint glow between his fingers. For the first time in years, having assumed he was alone, Ivory felt himself begin to cry. It was quiet, the sound from deep within his throat. It was from a mixture of fear and anger - an anger he couldn't seem to wipe away. His mother wouldn't want this for him, but - what he was doing was right.

The lapidarist gripped his head as a headache began to form, finding his delicate fingers running through his own hair for comfort. He couldn't stop the tears as was evident by the clumps of dirt that formed when they hit the ground. If Elior was awake, he knew the man would tear him a new one - the thought earned him a laugh, however pained. He needed to compose himself; he wasn't a scared kid anymore, he was an adult who was doing what was right.
 
Focus on sleeping. Focus on sleeping. Focus on slee--

Elior's eyes opened slowly, miserably, as he was forced to listen in on the unsubtle emotional outpouring occurring elsewhere in the house, the muffled crying not as quiet as Ivory would have hoped it was. The Prince's response to it encompassed a range of emotions, the initial being that of anger. He wanted nothing more than to block out the misery of existing in The Dark, enduring all the horrors it had to offer. He imagined Ivory wanted to avoid having to deal with him in return, which left sleep the best way both of them could get what they wanted from their scenario - and yet he was being kept awake by the other crying?

The second emotion, and perhaps the most obvious and inevitable of them all, was glee. Oh, the sound might have initially enraged him, but it quickly became like music to his ears. He sat up from the bed (which was a grandiose term for what was otherwise a slab of rock) and tilted his head to the side in order to drink the sound in, each sniffle and shaky exhale providing Elior with more motivation to grin to himself, the pleasure he derived from Ivory's misfortune being delicious.

But then the third emotion hit; the one he couldn't have prepared for and, with its surprising intensity quickly dominating the previous emotions without trouble, he was left with little choice but to accept that he couldn't fight it off, however he tried.

Sympathy, mixed in with a helping of guilt for good measure.

He grimaced, physically shaking his head and flopping back down to the bed (a little too hard, given the pained grunt that escaped him as his shoulder made contact with the rock beneath him) in an attempt to pretend, however delusionally, that he didn't feel bad for the suffering taking place in the next room. Why should he feel sorry for someone who had taken him from his home? Who tied him up? Who tricked him without remorse? Even if Ivory hadn't done any of those things, this was still a resident of The Dark, that alone giving Elior ample reason to turn his nose up and ignore the crying as though it was a nuisance, not a cause for sympathy.

He didn't feel sympathetic for his own citizens; like hell was he going to start feeling bad for those beyond The Light's boundaries. He didn't need to--

Fuck.

Elior, with great effort, managed to get up onto his feet once he realised he couldn't just block out the crying, nor ignore the effect it was beginning to have on him. Instead, carefully, he made his way to the doorway overlooking the hearth, his feet a little unsteady but his legs at least thanking him for easing the ache within them. He stood for a few seconds, quietly observing the scene without announcing his presence at its periphery, until he became uncomfortable observing the crying when Ivory had no clue of his witnessing of it.

"...Are you crying because I wouldn't try the fucking spider leg?" He inquired with a snort beneath the tone, the attempt at levity to break the tension and any awkwardness again surprising him, but he worked past it and pressed forward into the surprisingly cosy room. He moved his eyes to the fire, the warmth hitting him immediately.

"You should feel bad, doing what you did. I don't agree with it, it's absolute lunacy. You're mad, thinking you can pull it off. But there's no need to cry over it. You took actions into your own hands to do what you needed to do. Again, it's nothing short of suicide, but I can respect the... bravery. The audacity. It's commendable. So quit crying over it. You're doing what you think is right. There's no shame in that, however wrong you are."
 
With his face buried in his hands and his eyes squeezed closed shut to try and lighten the tears as they poured from his lids. The shuddering that escaped his throat was assumed to be quiet, desperately trying not to wake the Prince, but the sound of Elior's voice did nothing but cause Ivory to curse loudly in frustration and quickly wipe his face.

"Yeah, I'm crying over the crab. It… was expensive," he murmured in response, his typically smooth and alluring voice now broken and crumbling, a thick layer covering his throat that he could do nothing but swallow. He shuddered in disgust.

Ivory didn't look up to Elior. He knew that if he did that he would be greeted with ridicule as the tears left a texture to his otherwise vantablack skin. He felt ugly, he always did when he cried - it was why he often did it alone.

"Don't cry, Ivy. If you cry you'll just upset everyone! Besides, mama is in a better place." His sister reassured and lifted her brother into her arms with ease. Ivory couldn't stop, even after the reassurance. The difference from then and now being that he couldn't run away. Not when Elior was still here, still tied.

"You're wasting so much good food…" he continued, though he was just speaking for the sake of filling the silence. He couldn't force his usually witty response as the taller man hunched over. His hands finally moved from his face and his brow furrowed. He wanted to either kill Elior or himself to avoid the embarrassment that came with the Prince's eyes on him. He was the hero, heroes don't fucking cry like he was.

"… I'm scared, Elior." He finally admitted after a moment of silence, his bleary eyes locked on the fire. There was a subtle shake to his hands that he tried to stop by entangling his fingers together, but it didn't do much. His smooth and quiet voiced returned. "I'm not afraid of death, I know that is inevitable. I'm scared that I will lose my life and leave my father alone for nothing. I'm afraid that all of this will just… end in the same thing. I want to hurt you so fucking bad-" he paused, the crack in his voice causing him just more embarrassment, "- but you don't deserve it, do you? It's… a lot."
 
This... wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Granted, he didn't really know what to expect as the conversation played out, but Ivory blowing apart the initial effort to dismiss his feelings (which Elior would have preferred he do) and choosing instead to lean into them, to confess to his vulnerabilities in spite of the risk of ridicule? That was the last thing Elior anticipated from him. It was just another example of Ivory being unpredictable, unreadable, but this instance didn't provide Elior with the anger that usually followed his realisations that Ivory was a mystery to him.

No, rather than the fury eating him up inside as he contemplated how inadequate the intelligence he prided himself on was when it came to judging Ivory, Elior was hit with horror; with dread. He didn't want to hear the confessions in all of their sincerity leave Ivory's lips: he wanted cruelty, insults, the casual nature of the venomous hisses that they each spat at one another.

Because Elior could understand those; he could ease into the enjoyment that it brought him to unleash every cruel word resting on his tongue, find comfort in the chance to be himself without restraint or a glimmer of the self-control that had dominated every move he made and every word he said for almost the entirety of his life.

What he couldn't understand (or struggled to accept that he did) was... this; the honesty, stemming from emotion, that Ivory quietly admitted to. This was someone he had only ever seen at the height of arrogance, seemingly convinced by their own actions and finding a little enjoyment in the position of power it gave him over Elior - which the Prince had to concede made sense, given how the reverse had only ever been true for any citizen of The Dark. He hadn't suspected any of the doubt and the fear that actually lingered in Ivory and, though he was yet again surprised by how little he truly understood him, he was more horrified that that fear existed in the first place.

If Ivory wasn't entirely confident in the actions he had chosen to exact, he should never have made them. He wasn't ever going to succeed if doubt existed; if there was the chance it would bloom and create fear. Surely, that much was basic.

"God, you're an absolute amateur, aren't you? No, you really are the good guy, Ivory, because this is precisely how I would imagine a good guy would act," he muttered under his breath, not necessarily dismissing Ivory or seeking to ridicule him but more confessional in approach; speaking aloud as the thoughts came to mind. As if to emphasise that he didn't intend to unleash hell and take advantage of Ivory's moment of vulnerability by targeting it, he took a seat on the ground opposite the fireplace, legs neatly crossing as he soaked in the warmth.

"Would it help you if I said I did deserve it? I'd argue relentlessly against it, of course, but I can play devil's advocate to myself for a moment. I reside in a glittering palace while your people wallow in the dirt. I possess riches and material goods that have been bought for me using the money made from your hard work in these mines. I have power; you're all weakened by decades of ignorance from The Light," he drawled matter-of-factly as his eyes locked once more on the flames dancing in the fireplace in front of him, his head tilting to the side a little as he became transfixed by the movement-- until it broke when his smile grew, his eyes darting over to Ivory.

"I don't enjoy witnessing you snivelling in here, weeping into your hands. I don't find it amusing. Frankly, it's disappointing. You have every right to boast arrogantly about capturing me; fooling me; deceiving me. I disagree with it but you're fighting for your country, hm? Some would say that your actions are justified in order to bring about change," he hummed contemplatively, his head tilting to the side a little more as Ivory became the new focal point for his eyes to become transfixed with.

"...Doesn't mean I won't happily send you to the gallows the first chance I get, of course. I've dream about it. Much like, I imagine, you've thought about crashing my head against the wall, or throwing me down into the pits of hell The Dark inevitably possesses. It's... a mutual exchange, this dance of ours. So don't cry, Ivory, because I need you to be the arrogant prick who flaunts his success in my face. Your fears, your doubts-- oh, they're unnecessary, as are the tears they've caused. You're -and I will snap your neck if you remind me that I said this- more capable than you give yourself credit for."
 
"… there are some pits in The Dark that seemingly lead to nowhere, yes." Admitted Ivory after a long pause of silence, his eyes only briefly looking up to take in Elior - before darting to his feet. Despite his taller height, the men who had successfully tricked and captured the Prince, looked almost childlike as he pressed his knees close to rest his chin upon.

He couldn't hide his tears now and, while the sniffling seemed to stop (or at least quiet down), the tears continued. A groan escaped in frustration as he wiped as many as he could away, his frown morphing to a scowl.

"Gosh - this has always been my problem," he began, the irritation something that was impossible to be lost on, "I was always told that when I was a child, I… struggled to stop crying. I wouldn't even be upset anymore but i would still cry. Kids would bully me and I would run crying to my mother and she would offer me some sweets, right? I would be so happy but I couldn't stop the sobs or the snot from running down my face. Then I'd be bullied more. "He admitted, recalling the many moments similar with an ache in his chest.

He knew he was acting like this because he was tired, the stone chair only providing so much comfort. In reality, he craved the comfort of a bed - but he wanted to offer Elior's distance. His eyes moved to take Elior in once again, his face still stained with tears, before offering the hint of a smug smirk.

"How would you possibly snap my neck, dearest Elior? With your legs? Because I doubt you could with your hands given they're a bit preoccupied at the moment," he drawledas smoothly as he could, ignoring the tar like feeling he felt in his throat from the crying. He glanced at the knot that held steady with a flash of pride, knowing he ought to lean into that confidence."Who, other than yourself and my confidence, will stop me from announcing to everyone in The Dark that I'm capable of tricking a Prince? Do you know the game I could get doing that? Granted… it doesn't take much for someone to fall in love with me." He then paused, his small smile now a grin - one that wavered, but a grin nonetheless.

"You're a prime example, Prince Elior." He purred before moving to enjoy a glass of water and try to clear the scratch that prevailed in his throat.
 
"Ah, another drastic difference between us then. I can't recall a single time I let a tear slip. Certainly not for over a decade," admitted Elior in entire seriousness, a brief shrug offered in his genuine indifference to the fact. There were moments, often when he was alone with only his thoughts for company, that he considered how... strange it probably was, to be so indifferent and dismissive of everyone around him that nothing they said, nothing they did, could render sadness in him. Even without the outside behaviours of others to influence his mood, Elior just didn't react to things in a way that letting tears out became an inevitable repercussion - he felt a wide variety of emotions, from joy to anger; envy to dismay, but sadness?

He couldn't pinpoint a time with any accuracy where he had felt particularly saddened by anything, certainly not to an extent where he felt like he could cry at any moment because of it. Of course, tears didn't only arrive through sadness, but even the other emotional occasions where they could emerge didn't materialise. When he was hurt, he dealt with the pain without them. When he fell into contemplative states and reflected on how lonely he often felt, being caught up in a facade that exhausted him mentally, he simply acknowledged the unfairness and the exhaustion without tears bubbling over to physicalise it.

He could probably benefit from an emotional release; benefit from getting everything off his chest and admitting it all to someone who would tell him the truth, even if it wasn't something he wanted to hear, but, characteristically, Elior ignored the voice urging him to confess his own fears and simply moved on - particularly keen on doing so when he noticed the reestablishment of the arrogance he, on balance, preferred to see from Ivory.

It was easier than watching him look broken and appear so vulnerable, if only because Elior was then spared the uncomfortable feeling of his sympathy towards him; a feeling that made him feel nauseous in disgust at both its presence and who it was aimed towards.

"Oh, let's not pretend you wouldn't absolutely love me to wrap my legs around you," he chose to retort flirtatiously. He would defend the flirtation to himself as taunting, lacking in sincerity and, therefore, more mocking than anything else - but doing so deliberately ignored the dream he had enjoyed (despite his inner protestations) throughout the night and similarly ignored the way his breath drew still whenever Ivory loomed close to him; whenever he closed the distance and leaned down--

He focused his gaze away from Ivory, taking the momentary distance to allow himself to smile without the expression being witnessed. He wouldn't admit just how glad he was to see the other return to the cockiness, even if it meant enduring the taunts he had initially come to despise - but comparatively, he would handle them every second of the day if he had to.

It if meant not seeing him... upset.

"Oh, tell everyone you captured me if you must; I wouldn't want to rob you of the chance to take someone to bed, Ivory. I don't believe that you have the chance come around too often, I'd imagine that's a lie, so if you have to resort to boasting of my kidnap to win interest from someone cute? Oh, go for it. I'd never begrudge anyone the chance to enjoy a crumb of pleasure-- though what pleasure you'd get from people down in this dump is questionable," he drawled as he attempted to lean back, though without being able to set his hands on the floor for balance, he quickly changed his mind and sat upright - lying down on his back might have been more comfortable but it put him in a position of vulnerability he didn't care for.

He couldn't be entirely sure Ivory wouldn't take the opportunity to capitalise on the moment and slash his throat.

"It's a shame you tricked me before we had a chance to have some fun. Not that I'd feel particularly good afterwards, knowing I slept with a psycho, but at least you'd give me a little respect. I can say, with entire sincerity, that I'm far superior in every department to those you've been with in the past. That's not arrogance; it's factual. A fact you'd know yourself if you hadn't interrupted the moment in favour of kidnap."
 
"So you're telling me, Prince Elior," Ivory began in a drawl as he offered a quick wipe of his eyes free of tears, "that you are superior to the lovers I may have had in the past? Is that a promise?" A purr escaped Ivory's tone as he moved from his seat, a passion similar to the fire that warmed the otherwise cold and damp home now in his teary eyes. He stood in front of the Prince, his gaze... a mixture of emotions, certainly. The flirting wasn't subtle, even if the man would use the excuse as a failed attempt at teasing. He stared down Elior before leaning down, doing so until his legs were straddling the other.

"If you consider having sex as offering respect, your concept of 'respect' is awfully skewed... but we both knew that, didn't we?" He continued, his voice hushed now as he spoke into the other's ear. Tears could be felt as they fell from Ivory's eyes to Elior's collarbone, though the warmth of the fire evaporated them as soon as they landed. One hand held the lower bit of Elior's back while the other returned to where they seemed to love; betwixt the Prince's soft hair, feeling the texture with a hum of affection. Ivory's eyes closed as he took in that closeness, a moment of affection - however one-sided it was - filling him with more comfort than he was comfortable admitting. After all, he had spent the last few months almost solely dedicated to his plan and in those months he was in near isolation.

He could picture The Dark now; no longer were they surviving on what they could scrounge, no longer was the death rate overpowering the birth rate as children grew ill and died. The Light would embrace his kind with open arms, they would share their foods and culture with the same curiosity he felt when he was a child. He would run through the fields of grass with his sister in hand, feel the blades as they brushed against his feet. He would take in the sun, the real sun, giggling alongside his sister while everyone fell into harmony. His sister would laugh beside him and she would braid her hair, watching as the flowers - daisies, his grandfather described them - lined her void locks.

Ivory swallowed hard as a wave of emotions hit him again,but he pushed them aside. She focused instead on offering those same kisses as before along the Prince's collarbone, his free hands still keeping the man close.
 
If he knew that the unsubtlety of his flirtation would result in action, would Elior have gone ahead and allowed both the explicitness of his words and the tone that covered them to leave his lips?

It was a momentary thought that struck him the instant Ivory adopted the position above him, his hands running through Elior's hair. He didn't want to spend too long contemplating the issue when he could hardly go back and reverse it, but pondering it did allow him to decide whether he wanted the situation to go further or, conversely, shove Ivory off and appear disgusted by him. It would be feigned disgust, but it was the wisest move he could make: reject and subsequently ridicule Ivory and remaining true to the beliefs he had held his entire life towards those that dwelled in The Dark. Those feelings ought to be especially bitter towards the one that had gone out of their way to kidnap him and threaten his life with apparent seriousness--

And yet Elior didn't shove him aside. He didn't appear disgusted. He didn't even need to spend more than a few seconds contemplating his situation when his feelings were settled instantaneously.

He had been flirtatious not because of some well-thought out tactic to lull Ivory into a false sense of security, but because he wanted to flirt with him. He wanted to be touched by him; he wanted the sensation that their proximity brought.

So he would repeat the flirtation time and time again if the opportunity arose to do so. It wasn't... smart, entirely unhelpful for the plan he had concocted for himself and it only served to massively complicate matters--

But he didn't particularly care, especially not in that moment.

"I would return the favour, you know. But there's only so much I can do with my hands tied up now, isn't there? I'm no stranger to the feeling but rope is a tad more rough than the silk binds I've used in the past," he hummed amusedly as he tilted his head to the side, observing what he could of Ivory as the other proceeded to kiss along his collarbone; a sensation that brought a faint blush, a spread of pastel pink, across his pale complexion. He bit his bottom lip to stifle a noise that would indicate his enjoyment, choosing not to provide Ivory with the ego boost of knowing how good he was just yet.

"Alas, I suppose all I can really do is lay back and be ravished by you, hm? How unfortunate," he continued sarcastically, fully accepting that any desire he might have had to continue to be the thorn in Ivory's side had faded, momentarily, in favour of pursuing... well, this. "That said, if I can make a request-- I want you to kiss me properly. There's little point in skirting around - I'd like a kiss from the man that men and women alike seemingly flock to, if your word is to be believed? I want to see just why that is."
 
"I'd much prefer to keep your hands tied. As rough as you seem to like it, I... don't think I would appreciate being choked in the middle of action, at least not if it means I'll be killed," Ivory replied into the other's neck, his forehead pressed gently against the other's skin. There was a warmth that eminated from Elior that he had never felt with any of his partners. Did everyone from The Land of The Light feel like this? He found himself jealous in a sense, though he couldn't be at blame, could he? He had never known better.

Still, Ivory found himself wanting to worship Elior's warmth, his smooth skin free of callouses. He wanted to rub his own skin, still wet from leftover tears that no longer streamed from his eyes, against the other's. He wanted to feel that softness, smooth and radiant like a flawless garnet.

He also wanted to tear holes into that skin. He wanted to squeeze Elior's cheeks until his eyes burst, dig his nails into it and leave marks that, if the body was ever found, would be seen by any casual observer. He wanted to take his sharp teeth and bite down on Elior's lip until his own mouth was filled with the other man's blood.

He settled at the midway, Ivory decided, as he held the back of the Prince's head carefully. His other hand ran down the other's arm, only stopping at the robe that had him bound so tightly. His typically owlish closed, if only a bit, as he moved away from that close proximity and take in Elior. He wanted the Prince to beg for it -

Blink.

"Fine. Who am I to deny royalty what is due to them?" He drawled, the smirk on his lips only seen by a flicker of the fire's flame. He hesitated, their lips teasingly close, before finally offering what the other craved. The kiss was surprisingly gentle, at least at first, the lapidarist testing the waters as he happily let the hand that rested on the other's arm now hold his waist firmly.
 
Despite the fact it had been Ivory that initiated the physical contact, Elior couldn't be certain that his request would be honoured. They could brush aside the straddled positioning and tender, affectionate touches if they really tried to, make a swift return to throwing sharpened insults at one another to distance themselves from the intimacy-- but that task would be altogether more difficult, almost insurmountable, if they actually kissed. It was taking a step over a line, making a return to how they had interacted behind it... impossible.

At least, in Elior's case, he knew there was a chance he would try to regard Ivory with the same viciousness that had dictated much of his interactions towards him thus far, but there was also the likelihood that none of it would land as strongly when Ivory could always remind him of the kiss-- especially when it had been the Prince that suggested they take things to that level.

That contemplation didn't prevent him from asking, however, his desire to feel Ivory's lips crash against his own being too intense to put aside in favour of avoiding the potential consequences.

And, from Ivory's eventual movement to honour the request, he seemingly couldn't either.

After everything he had heard drop boastfully from Ivory's lips, Elior's expectations for the kiss were, inevitably, pretty high. Granted, he hadn't been all that subtle when it came to proudly declaring his own expertise in the field, but he was more than confident that he could back it up with action - but he didn't hold that same confidence for Ivory. He didn't want him to be bad -what pleasure would he gain from kissing someone who didn't live up to expectation?- but he also didn't anticipate him being... great either.

Just another example upon the many dozen that stood as proof of how idiotic Elior was to continually underestimate him.

Holding the kiss as long as he could, he spent a good few seconds in silence after the initial contact broke. His eyes fixed on the man above him as he considered the kiss, pulled together all his thoughts and gathered every feeling the action had ignited.

It was fucking annoying but he was left with little doubt that he he enjoyed it more than he wanted to; more than he expected to.

"...I get it. Okay? Happy? I get it; I understand the appeal," he complimented with clear reluctance, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. He longed to move his own hand to cup Ivory's cheek, not only initiate action of his own but also show that he was capable of tenderness despite his preference for the rougher stuff. He could, if tempted, be gentle and affectionate, mirror the tone that Ivory showed.

It just wasn't easy to do when his hands were bound together.

"Can't you remove the rope? I mean, really, how am I supposed to prove to you that my boasts aren't fanciful when I can't move my hands? I won't do anything. I imagine if I tried to hurt you in any way to make a daring escape, you'd either catch me or I'd fall to my death in one of the mines, Ivory. So don't be so paranoid. I have no desire to do anything but grab your face and pull you into a kiss - if that sounds so utterly horrible, you're free to keep me tied up. But if it sounds tempting, I'd appreciate some kindness; temporary kindness. You can tie me back up when we're done if that puts your fears to bed."
 
Ivory kept their closeness for a moment, his own heavy breathing hushed but not silent as he watched with those curious eyes. They may be half-lidded but that curiosity still remained as he took in Elior in the light of the fireplace. He took in every ounce of the man, to the blush that dusted his cheeks to the string of shared saliva that glinted in the light. His eyes focused primarily on the Prince's lips, their petal pink color alluring more than ever.

He was willing to turn his focus upon hearing said Prince's admission as a wide grin slowly crept to his lips. With sharp teeth on display, his shark smile practically curled at the edges while the hand that held Elior's head moved to instead rest on the other's inner thigh. It all felt strange, the passion and attraction they clearly had between them both - but if he focused on the pride he felt, he could push those... complicated feelings aside.

For now, he could draw upon the fact that he had made such an important Light citizen weak in the knees. Granted, perhaps that boasting wasn't ideal as his ears perked at the mention of untying the knots - and the fact that, for a moment, he considered doing just that.

"I know my reputation precedes me," he purred, that smooth and buttery tone only emphasizing the pride he felt. He moved to carefully adjust the other's hair as he leaned back a bit more, offering distance that Ivory needed to catch his breath. He drank up the sight, this excitement being one he hadn't felt in months. "I knew you would be more than pleased. I can do more than kiss of course. I may not be Nathaniel, because I know I'm better." He dared to speak, his grin unable to grow any larger.

It did falter upon what would happen if he were to let the Prince's hands free. His eyes finally moved from the other, if only to take in the knots. He hesitated, his weight shifting impatiently as he continued to sit on the other's lap. This was such a stupid fucking idea - but he didn't care, he couldn't care as he grabbed the dagger from his pocket and cut the rope in one swift swoop - proof of it's sharpness.

"I'll use something more comfortable than rope, how about that?" Ivory suggested as he moved to feel the divets in the skin. He forced the other's wrists close, offering a peck to the wounds carefully.
 
Though he made the request with the hope that it would be honoured, and did his best to lay on the reasons why Ivory would be justified in doing so, Elior couldn't genuinely place any faith in the idea that he would feel release from the rope that had rubbed the skin around his wrists raw; left him in agony every time he moved and reawakened the pain. Even if he attempted to convince the other that he would be able to fully involve himself in the moment by having access to tug Ivory close with his hands free to make such a move, the consequences of being freed from the binds that restricted him from attempting to overpower Ivory or forcing a path to make an escape were, undeniably, a possibility; a likelihood, in fact.

Because what person would favour sex with the enemy, with the man that had thrust him into such horrible circumstances with the view to overthrow everything Elior had spent years longing, over freedom; over the chance to rush home and get his plans for dominating The Dark set into action?

The instant he felt the rope fall, Elior smiled quietly to himself as he rolled his wrists to alleviate the stiffness. The pain was still present, almost permanent at this point, but he could force that back to focus on the immense positives of having the freedom to move. Naturally, the idea of lashing out at Ivory, fighting for his life, came to mind just seconds later, his eyes flickering to the knife in the belief that, if he took advantage of the moment, he could, somehow, make a grab for it; struggle desperately, frantically, until he found that small sliver of opportunity to make a run for it.

But then his eyes fell back on Ivory's face; on those eyes that inexplicably drew him in and made time feel as though it had come to a stop. Caught in that moment, the pleasure that the kiss had brought returned, flooding through him and causing a heat to rise within his chest and upon his cheeks.

It was idiocy not to take advantage of the chance to fight for his freedom now there was nothing restraining his hands and his feet from punching and kicking out; using the strength he had left within him to do all he could to get home.

But Elior had quickly realised that something about Ivory made him... act uncharacteristically. His thoughts were clouded, the smart option discarded for the one that brought him temporary pleasure.

And so, after a beat of prolonged silence and inaction, Elior's hands reached up to run through Ivory's hair to mirror the other's earlier movements. A grin spread on his face at the opportunity to initiate the affection; to return the countless favours Ivory had bestowed upon him. His fingers curled within the locks in curiosity before his hands moved to his neck, at first resting at either side before his fingers curled to the back, his thumbs together against his throat. He knew the positioning, the threat of a grip, was perhaps playing with fire, indicating an intention to start choking until Ivory stopped breathing but he didn't have any intention to hurt him and make a run for his life.

Rather, he was more amused at the idea that Ivory might, even for a second, feel like that was about to materialise into reality.

"Oh, relax; I'm teasing you," he purred as he used the positioning of his hands to tug Ivory down into another kiss, one not lacking the passion that the previous had held. If anything, with the knowledge he had full freedom of movement now, the kiss was hungrier, the desire to prove to Ivory that he had made the right choice in allowing him that (temporary) freedom encouraging him to shower the other with his affections.

Not that he really needed much of an excuse when Ivory had occupied his thoughts and his dreams for hours on end.
 
It took everything within Ivory to keep himself from purring at the affectionate touch, something he had been craving for months -of course, his goal for revenge overpowered that need by a mile and a half but nonetheless he wasn't stupid enough not to admit the truth. His owlishly wide eyes closed, however briefly, by the other's touch. His hair was silky and soft to the touch, no doubt due to the shampoo and conditioner offered to him back in The Light. It was thick, a quality he thanked his mother for offering him when he could recalled his balding grandfather with a hint of a smile.

"There's nothing wrong with being a little bald, Ivy. It just means I'm more hard-headed than your mother," he could recall the man saying, followed by a airy laugh that took an unsubtle transition to a wheezed cough. Ivory would happily rub the bald spot, feeling the wrinkles and divets in the man's skin that couldn't be seen due to their vantablack skin. He would play on the bald spot likes drums, humming along to the random beats he would make as his hands - not yet hardened by years of work - would bang lightly against the other's forehead-

He was brought out of his memory at the feeling of two smooth thumbs pressing down on his throat, however lightly. His eyes opened to take in the Prince as he blinked in surprise, though he knew he oughtn't be that surprised. He would do the very same thing to Elior if he was in the right place of mind. He honestly couldn't say that was where he was, given his subtle eagerness to free his captive.

He was fucking stupid. This was all so fucking stup-

There wasn't much time to dwell on his self-loathing when he was suddenly tugged into another kiss. Once he was able to realize he hadn't yet made the worst decision of his life, Ivory instead leaned into the kiss with hunger as he placed his own hands on each side of Elior's waist to balance himself - only for him to push the other to the floor, however gently. It was still solid stone after all. As much as Ivory told himself he was doing the right thing, he couldn't honestly say he cared that the ground wasn't the comfortable pillows and blankets that Elior was most likely used to as he carefully moved to hold each of the Prince's wrists. He was careful, his fingers only really grazing his skin in what could barely be considered a grip but he held them nonetheless as an unashamed moan escaped his lips.
 
If the news ever reached the ears of the populace back home, nothing Elior could do or say would win back the approval ratings he would inevitably lose as a result. It wasn't the fact that he was intending to sleep with someone from The Dark that would cause those ratings to dip, but rather the context of it. News would reach those in The Light regarding his kidnap at any moment, the kingdom sent into panic that their Prince had been taken from the safety of his home and used as a pawn in a game by his kidnapper; someone who was happy to resort to any measure possible to ensure he got what he wanted; what he needed for his home and his people.

How could Elior ever justify his decision to sleep with the very same man that had committed such acts of disrespect towards the King and Queen that had shown him charity and kindness? The view was a grand over-simplification, ignoring the nuances and the contextual information, but most people in The Light wouldn't particularly care to know about the devastation that those in The Dark had endured as a result of the royal couple and their blissful ignorance. All they would care about was that their King and Queen, successful in providing their people with bountiful harvests and satisfying livelihoods, had been taken advantage of by a treasonous figure who would thieve and harm to succeed.

Elior might have the wool pulled over everyone's eyes back home, able to smoothly lie his way into getting their affections and admiration, but nothing could be said to win them over to his side if they ever learnt of what he was currently engaged in doing: a leg wrapped over Ivory's to keep their bodies pressed together and a hand against the back of his neck, holding him down into the kiss.

He knew he would return home at some point, acting the victim of an appalling act to garner as much sympathy as he desired from a population eager to support him through the difficult time, but he didn't want to consider how he would do that without throwing Elior to the gallows as a consequence.

Because ridding himself of someone who could make him feel this good would be stupidity. It didn't matter whatsoever that that person had him held captive or sought to inadvertently destroy the plans he had with plans of his own, because Elior knew he could overcome those challenges. If it meant he had someone in his life who was able to make him feel like this, who had him melting at the simplest touch and struggling to stifle a moan within the kisses he indulged him with, he was willing to do whatever he could to ensure such a person remained present in that life for as long as possible.

Nathaniel was nice and had fulfilled a purpose, but... as aggravated as he was to admit it to himself, the soldier couldn't hold a candle to what Ivory was able to provide.

"This is all somewhat cute, isn't it? Making love beside a roaring fireplace? I didn't have you down as a romantic," he laughed quietly under his breath, his eyes opening once more to take in the figure above him. A hand curiously returned to run through Ivory's hair, the sensation being too enjoyable, too intimate, for him to ignore the temptation of repeating the action. "Assuming we are to have sex, anyway. I struggle to read you and what goes on in that head of yours."
 
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