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"You adore him, don't you, Jord?"
Of course he does. Who doesn't? The Prince is nothing short of divine. Jord can't find it in himself to admit it, not aloud, not with his cock buried balls-deep in the tight, slick heat of Aimeric, his hands anchored on pale, silken hips.
"You worship him." The way Aimeric's pretty mouth curls around that word makes it into a slur.
Just the same, it's true.
"I respect him." That, as well, is true. It's not the entire truth, but it's far from false. Worship is too strong a word, Jord thinks, but there's nothing he can do to stop the shiver that races up his spine at the thought of the Prince, his ice-pale skin, his frigid eyes, his vicious mouth. "He's to be our King one day, Aimeric, he deserves--"
"I deserve your full attention right now, don't you think?"
Jord's responding smile is a strangely playful thing, and he says, "Yes, of course you do."
"You know he would never do this for you, don't you?" Leaning back, his hands on Jord's knees, Aimeric rolls his hips, dragging the underside of his cock along the hard plane of the elder man's stomach. "Laurent--" It sounds like a curse. "He would never do this for you."
Breathless: "No, he wouldn't."
"So stop talking about him." Leaning in, Aimeric presses a soft kiss to Jord's lips, giving a slight shudder when calloused hands slide up his back to tangle into his hair.
When they finally part, Jord licks his lips, saying, "You're the one who brought him up."
A snicker, and Aimeric breathes, arrogant, "I think it's the Akielon that's bringing him up."
"Are you jealous?" Jord has the audacity to look amused, and Aimeric squeezes around him, pretty lips pursing in irritation. Though his voice falters a bit, Jord valiantly manages, "Are you jealous of Damen?"
"Jealous!" It sounds like the worst profanity imaginable.
"You want him." There's something almost incredulous in Jord's voice, and he's half-smiling again. "You want to fuck the Prince."
"And you don't?" Aimeric gives an especially enthusiastic roll of his hips, hands white-knuckled at Jord's shoulders. "You want him." It's an accusation, Aimeric's eyes cold and dark, and Jord shivers again, arching. "Say it."
The words take time to form. "I want him, yes, but--" There's a rough moan before Jord breathes, "But I want you more." That, too, is the truth. His hands are gentle at Aimeric's hips, and their eyes meet. "I want you--"
A squeeze around Jord's cock cuts him off, and Aimeric hisses, "You look at him the same way you look at me." Another accusation.
Jord does nothing to deny it, bucking his hips and pointing out, "Everyone wants him." It's a fact.
There's pride in Aimeric's voice when he breathes, "Not everyone."