The muted delivery of the permission granted is almost amusing. Were Barnabas capable of being endeared to others, he might name it that. As it stands, however, he is as warm to Noctis as he was before even knowing of his existence, which is to say not at all. What he has gained from this is cold facts, devoid of attachment or the shackles of bonding. Though, he won't deny that in this realm there is a benefit to these interactions, to playing the part of a lover to people he otherwise sees little personal value in. Sex means stamps, and stamps means power, and he would be a fool to not play the game for what it is, until he can break it.
"Very well."
With Noctis' agreement, however, that leaves him to decide where to lay claim to him. Certainly he has no qualms over the impropriety of their current location, nor does most of the inhabitants seem to mind such either. Yet, there is a need to keep Noctis interested, and while his desire is raw and wafting through the air, it is key to lay the groundwork. Thus do those teleportation magics kick up again, and with Noctis in tow does he transport them. The mist that encompasses them dissipates almost as quickly as it enshrouded them, their transitional shift in location so instantaneous, that the sway of the ground beneath them will probably be far more disorienting than the warping itself.
Noctis will find himself still steadily held against Barnabas, but instead of being outdoors, they are in what appears to be the captain's quarters on a galleonβshould Noctis even know what that looks like. However, it is far more sparse than one might assume for a living space. In fact, there seems to be mostly a lone chair that is facing the backdrop of windows, one of a fitting style for a king as Barnabas claims himself to be, otherwise the quarters are achingly empty.
There is nothing that would tell Noctis more about Barnabas in this room, nothing characteristic to it, nothing particularly unique or personable. Nothing that speaks of hobbies, of his joys, of even art or clutter. Though, perhaps this in itself speaks deeply about him as a manβa yawning chasm, a sprawling abyss where something should be, but isn't.
Well, besides the bed. The rather large bed, one that could fit far more than a single pair of people. This is where Barnabas aims to steer Noctis, even before he might have his wits about him with the sway of the ship. This is on purpose. How easily it oft proves to be to persuade one's body to give into the descent to the bed when they have not claimed their balance. How much more enticing it is to stay where you might feel stable, than to stand like a fawn on wobbly legs flirting with the chance to fall. There is security in accepting the control he provides, in submitting to it, and he would see if Noctis will do just that.
no subject
"Very well."
With Noctis' agreement, however, that leaves him to decide where to lay claim to him. Certainly he has no qualms over the impropriety of their current location, nor does most of the inhabitants seem to mind such either. Yet, there is a need to keep Noctis interested, and while his desire is raw and wafting through the air, it is key to lay the groundwork. Thus do those teleportation magics kick up again, and with Noctis in tow does he transport them. The mist that encompasses them dissipates almost as quickly as it enshrouded them, their transitional shift in location so instantaneous, that the sway of the ground beneath them will probably be far more disorienting than the warping itself.
Noctis will find himself still steadily held against Barnabas, but instead of being outdoors, they are in what appears to be the captain's quarters on a galleonβshould Noctis even know what that looks like. However, it is far more sparse than one might assume for a living space. In fact, there seems to be mostly a lone chair that is facing the backdrop of windows, one of a fitting style for a king as Barnabas claims himself to be, otherwise the quarters are achingly empty.
There is nothing that would tell Noctis more about Barnabas in this room, nothing characteristic to it, nothing particularly unique or personable. Nothing that speaks of hobbies, of his joys, of even art or clutter. Though, perhaps this in itself speaks deeply about him as a manβa yawning chasm, a sprawling abyss where something should be, but isn't.
Well, besides the bed. The rather large bed, one that could fit far more than a single pair of people. This is where Barnabas aims to steer Noctis, even before he might have his wits about him with the sway of the ship. This is on purpose. How easily it oft proves to be to persuade one's body to give into the descent to the bed when they have not claimed their balance. How much more enticing it is to stay where you might feel stable, than to stand like a fawn on wobbly legs flirting with the chance to fall. There is security in accepting the control he provides, in submitting to it, and he would see if Noctis will do just that.