Yuri sits on Zephariel's lap, happily sucks on the cherry lollipop. His cheeks are naturally pink from laughing too much under Zephariel's tickling attack. He dangles his supple, smooth legs back and forth, his toes caressing the expensive trousers of the taller man, and Zephariel keeps on indulging him. As long as his kitten is happy, the world can go burning for all he cares.
"Oi, earth to Zephariel." Yoru yawns, chin on his hands, bored to sleep.
"I'm listening." The man smiles stupidly, nuzzling into the boy's soft hair. It smells like bergamot and vetiver. He must've changed his shampoo. Also, Edward, that boy, he must find him.
"I'm saying, now that Yuri has presented, the boy must find a mate soon, no?" Yoru pinches Yuri's puffy cheek and satisfactorily receives a deadly glare from him. "Or do you plan on keeping him here forever?"
"Of course. He's my mate." Zephariel is too busy thinking about a million ways Edward can be cooked up to notice the menacing stare of his sweet kitten.
"Heh. That's cute. But you haven't claimed him yet. He's no one's mate." Yoru adds fuel to the flame.
"He hasn't consented. Yuri is still too young to think about such things. I will wait until my dear kitten agrees. Right, little doll?" Zephariel places a peck on the boy's forehead, earning him a cute pout with wet, reddish lips.
"Ah, right, too young. How old do you think he is now?"
"...Seventeen." Zephariel mutters, his ears flushing.
"What? Couldn't quite catch that. Try again." Yoru presses, finding things getting amusing by the second.
"A hundred and seventeen." Zephariel grunts, visibly displeased by the deity's crude habit.
"Right. Too young, then." Yoru beams with a big grin running from ear to ear. He gets a kick from the 'sweet kitten' on Zephariel's lap, but the fun is so good that he accepts it with grace.
A knock on the doors pulls them back to reality. They are sitting in the old library of the Eisenberg castle. Yuri loves spending time there while Zephariel busies himself with paperwork and the estate's management. He adores reading a bit too much, and the concentration when he picks up a book rivals a sniper's with his aim. Zephariel sighs with regret. He doesn't want to receive any guesses today or talk about anything but his doll and his new haircut, which is so cute and so perfect for him that Zephariel wishes to have it carved into a bust or painted into a large canvas for his own viewing.
"Come in." He groans, upset. His kitten's dancing fingers on his jaw appease him somewhat.
An old butler walks in with a quiet dignity. He seems unfazed by the scene in front of him. A most usual spectacle. He bows, announces with care: "Your Grace, the Duchess of Valhelthaim is here to inquire after Your Grace's health."
"Tell her I'm busy."
"Your Grace, Her Excellency persists that –"
"Tell her I'm dead. Tell her anything. As long as she goes away." Zephariel cuts the butler off curtly.
"Understood."
The butler retreats in haste. Not a word of complaint. But before Zephariel can breathe with ease, hurried footsteps and a loud voice chase him back to the fact he can't avoid. The Duchess is here, and she won't take no for an answer. The poor butler can't stop the storm of perfume, sugary voice, and feathery hat from invading his momentary peace.
"Your Grace, it's been a while. I hear from my maid that you've been sick for the whole week. My, my, Your Highness, Duke Eisenberg, I thought you'd take better care of your loyal maester."
A mass of gown and feathers rushes into the room. The voice enters first, then the pearl fan, the luxurious headpiece decorated with flowers and silver, and finally, an elegant lady shows her face, rouge in the right place, lips painted red, eyes blue with a faked worry and real adoration.
Yoru stares at the spectacle in front of him, his mind conjures up a million scenarios where the gown always ends up caught inside something and the lady trips herself up. He clicks his tongue, which doesn't go by unnoticed by the lady. It is sad how Her Grace ends up graceless in every version of his thought. The lady glances his way with distaste. The robe he wears and the white-tipped hair don't reflect a high position in society. She inquires with a thinly veiled contempt, "My, who is this weary beggar, I mean, darling, in your library, Your Highness?"
Yuri sucks the lollipop one last time, holds it inside his mouth, and with a strong force, crushes it between his teeth. The feet stop their playful act. The hands stop wandering. His eyes pierce the lady, his words are sweet with poisoned honey: "Why, do you plan on giving this weary beggar, I mean, person, a coin from your loving purse, Your Grace?"
The tension gets thick. The Duchess hides her anger behind the pearl fan, but her eyes betray her pretentious softness. Yuri, bored with the whole fiasco, intentionally slips Zephariel's shirt that he's wearing down his curvy shoulder, revealing a healing bite mark. He smirks, "My, my, isn't the weather getting hot?" Her Grace's face turned green with envy. Zephariel glues his eyes to the supple pink skin. And Yoru, the spectator –
He senses a chill going down his spine. Well, shit's about to get funny, and I'm here for that. Yoru leans back on his chair, watching the scene unfold.
Meanwhile, Zephariel is mourning for the lost of his kitten's soft touch on his face and the supple legs wrapping around his. He couldn't care less for the mass of the mortal gown in front of his eyes. Not an ounce.