Soft and Sinister

soft & sinister

France was enduring its most broiling summer to date. As per usual, the streets reeked of horse - and human - shit and urine, and the insects and beggars were more of a pest than the mutters of politics.

Politics.

Just at the thought, Roux's face knit up like cloth being gently tugged by a loose thread. Sprawled out on his unmade bed, barer than when he was born, he sweat out his miseries. There was a voiceless groan, and a hand came up to his face as if to hide him from the reality of his upcoming assembly.

God, when's the last time these windows were closed? Roux thought to himself. He couldn't stand the sound of the insects.

The clock ticked away. Soon it would emit a bong and he'd be off to represent his nation. Politics. Politics. Politics. It wasn't uncommon to hear the opinionated distaste of a leader's position. 'Too complicated.' 'Stressful.' 'Yawnful.' 'Not enough blood.' It was all talk with old men, countless assemblies, directionless arguments, and balding. Thankfully, he was well too young for those days. Hopefully.

The morning couldn't have been entirely a reminding waste. He didn't live alone. The sound of his draining tub made his head turn. With awakening excitement, he waited to catch him exiting the bathing chamber - how he prayed he wouldn't be clothed - and immediately cursed himself for sparing the previous invitation of sharing a bath with his majesty. Another thing to silently groan at. Decisions. Even the easy ones.

The thoughts of Vasily bathing didn't take long to swirl in; they were usually always hopeless. Vasily loathed any intimate contact with Roux if he wasn't bathed - usually. Roux had slick ways of getting what he wanted in situations with low percentages. He never pushed Vasily's buttons or begged him for sex. His mind was far too complex for that; his buttons were easy to rewire with the right vocabulary.

He rolled onto his side to face the chamber to see the arrival firsthand. He swiftly covered his regions with the unmade sheet before he came off as desperate. Come on now... come out.

Just a fortnight ago, Vasily had succeeded a position right next to Roux as seigneur. Roux was king, but as he brought no queen with him to succession, it was silently obvious Vasily was taking the spot as his advisor. He already took after the manor and came with him to all his assemblies. During this fortnight, Vasily had been crowned much like his king. He wore it all the time.

Including during the bath.

Having come from a lackluster position as butler from England, he wore his matching crown like a replacement skull. With the sound of the shifting drape, he finally stepped into the bedroom chamber, draped loosely in towel and crown alone.

Roux feasted on the sight.

That goddamn crown brought ego; he couldn't pay Roux two seconds of attention even if he'd have begged for it. He hated begging regardless. He crossed the room, shutting the shutters while casting his king - bedridden in all his sweaty glory - an irritated look at having to do such a butler-like task again. At the last shutter, he glanced away at the clock.

"So much for an early departure," Vasily announced with all intentions of naughty shade, letting gravity take his towel. Bare. They matched.

"Why close our shutters?" Roux had the nerve to ask, the growing beanpole under the linen becoming quite obvious. Knowing Vasily was eyeing him discreetly, Roux let his legs fall open in the least discreet way.

Vasily decided to spare some attention. "Must the Gods know we-"

"-why not-"

"-this often?"