Lips on you/ENG

When I put my lips on you

You keep me connected to you, like I was your shadow
You're givin' me answers to all of my questions here on my pillow

Chevalier has never been a brave man—his cowardice is tremendously well-known here at court to the point it has become quite proverbial over the years, and even the King is aware of Chevalier being very weak when it comes down to this.
The thing is, Chevalier loves being a coward. He loves being weak. Philippe is looking at him from the other side of the room, and Chevalier just adores the man—he absolutely fucking loves that moment when he punctually stares back into Philippe's eyes and every damn time finds himself unable to resist him.
He doesn't care about wars, about marriage, about plotting and scheming—he just cares about Philippe licking his lips greedily as they keep staring into each other's eyes, as «come here» the Duc orders, and Chevalier is already kneeling obediently before him, a sparkle of arousal in his clear eyes as he lays his hands on Philippe's slightly parted legs and «yes, Your Highness?» asks innocently, staring wide-eyed and pouting at Philippe from the floor.
Philippe is weak too at times like these, because he can't keep himself from letting just the tiniest smile rise on his lips - oh, God, Chevalier simply adores those little smiles of his, like the one he just put on display - as he cups Chevalier's face, leaning forward for a kiss—Chevalier closes his eyes unwillingly, and it's just pure bliss. He honestly doesn't know what would be of his life, and of him, if he didn't have Philippe by his side—he's so used to being tightly tied to him that the moments they're apart he feels naked, vulnerable. Cold. He likes being Philippe's shadow, always one step behind him wherever they go, but always within the reach of a hand, of a look—he doesn't like being in the spotlight, not when it's Philippe's place, not when Philippe is just so damn good at it.
He stands up, urged by Philippe's hands, their bodies intertwined and their mouths still joined in a dirty, passionate kiss, and can't keep his hands from wandering throughout Philippe's perfect body—he cups his ass possessively, thinking that everything of Philippe belongs to him, it's his and his only, and he feels himself getting harder by the second. He's got his own power, in a certain way, even though he never puts himself on display—Philippe stares at him with his eyes begging desperately for more, and Chevalier gives in to him once again: they crash on the bed, undressing each other quickly, and there's a thirst in Philippe's eyes that Chevalier wants to equally preserve forever and just quench as soon as he can. He takes a quick look at his lover's naked body, worshipping every inch of it with a single look full of lust, eager to start sinning with him once again, then dives on Philippe's manhood—that's his place: his mouth's place is on Philippe, with the latter moaning loud as if the pleasure that Chevalier is giving him were a blissful torture. There's nothing so equally pure and so damn indecent like Philippe behind a closed bedroom's door—Chevalier opens his eyes to take in the sight of Philippe basking in his attentions, crumbling under his hands, leaving all composure and manners outside of their own sanctuary to follow Chevalier into this slow descent towards madness: Philippe slips a hand through his hair, pulling a few strands in the probable and desperate attempt to keep himself grounded, and Chevalier's head rises abruptly, in his eyes a daring look he puts on only when they're alone «not yet, my love.»
This isn't bravery—this is just making sure their pleasure can last more, and Chevalier loves it. Philippe must be loving it too, because he lets his head fall back onto the pillows with a soft groan, and then he reaches out with his hands to pull Chevalier closer «you're unfair.»
«Au contraire, Mignonnette» Chevalier answers sweetly, lowering himself on Philippe's erection painfully slowly «I'm a very fair God, and I want us both to enjoy this moment.»
Philippe sits up, surrounding Chevalier's body with his arms, their faces so close now they don't even have to move in order to join their lips together «oh, God—»
Chevalier moves slightly, and a shiver goes down his spine forcefully «yes—yes—»
This is crazy. This is amazing. This is the best thing ever. And as Chevalier feels Philippe come inside of him he's so caught in the moment that the three words he's never dared telling him almost slip out on his tongue and he has to stifle them into a desperate kiss, onto Philippe's tongue as his erection tears a loud moan out of him, and then it's all over—he lets Philippe lower both of them back on the mattress, lets him hold his spent body and lay a myriad of feather-like kisses on his skin.
There's no need to talk, now—Philippe already knows what he needs to. He knows Chevalier is enough of a coward to never be able to tell him he loves him, but also that he does—he loves him so much that those words choke him every time he tries to let them out.
He never tells, but he always shows Philippe, here on their bed, out there in the real world, really all it takes in order for Philippe to read his mind is a simple look—Chevalier always gives himself away completely when it comes to Philippe.