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Camus squeezes the younger man in his arms once more. "Haven't I told you to stop being so cute?" His sweet words contrast with the annoyed expression on his face. "You're making things hard for me."
Cecil laughs. The ringing echoes in Camus's head, creating a sense of immediate peace. Arms draped around Camus's white shoulders now hidden beneath his grey shirt with its first few buttons undone, Cecil rests his chin on his fair head, placing numerous kisses on it. He inhales the scent fresh and clean, the flowery smell of the expensive conditioner the count uses just barely noticeable. The smell somehow always managed to make Cecil feel at ease, he had got so used to waking up with it all over him. Hints of lavender and some other flowers Cecil doesn't really know the name of. Camus took care of his hair with so much caution and devoutness that Cecil was amazed every single time. He even let the prince wash his hair on occasion. Cecil practically begged him to do so, but he knew that Camus enjoyed it just as he did.
"Come on." Camus pats Cecil's thigh subtly, a quiet cue for him to stand up. "You might be free today but I surely am not."
That creates no differences in the prince's current position on Camus's lap. He snuggles closer to the man, nuzzles his neck, gets a grunt in response. "Do you really have to go?"
"Yes. I suppose everyone else is already there, in fact." Camus caresses Cecil's cheek, looks in his bright eyes and smiles. They both wish that time would stop and they would be trapped in the very moment, until eternity. Camus found uttermost ataraxia in the green eyed man, his words, his doings, the way he looks at him and everyone else for his glance held such benignity towards all. His sole presence, even, was enough, providing the long lost warmth that Camus was subconsciously searching for. How they got so caught up in each other, though, still maintained its status as a mystery. First impressions do matter, and theirs was anything but positive. Nevertheless, dislike became indifference, indifference became friendliness, and it became requited feelings of romance before any of them knew. Polar opposites. Camus was brooding, bizarre and hard to understand and as cold as the northern winter, Cecil instead carried sweet warmth that made one feel at home and wore his heart on his sleeve. His thoughts seemed to lack a filter to them, as a spark in his beautiful eyes was the absolute indicator that he had something in mind, his purpose not exactly readable.
Despite being his assigned senior, Camus had more to learn from Cecil. He didn't know if he was able to make it clear to the prince that he absolutely, without any doubt loved him, but he tried his hardest. Camus came across failure more often than not when he tried to express his emotions as they truly are. He thought no words could be enough, since he had never experienced nor felt anything of the kind. Such strong, true feelings that made him not think twice were unknown to the blond until he met Cecil. Those nights they breathed in each other’s scent and got dizzy from love were pretty much the only times Camus could word his thoughts almost perfectly frank. Blind adoration. Cecil's declarations of his earnest love and desire, although he rarely hesitated to throw them Camus's way any time he liked, also gained a certain depth to them at those nights.
Cecil eventually relents and gets up, leaving the other seeking contact, bothered by the sudden lack of heat. He takes a step aside and crosses his arms, forming a pout.
Camus stands up from the chair decorated with silver accents, kisses the younger idol tenderly, embraces his waist so kindly as if to not break it. "Don't make that face to me. I will be back in the evening. I heard Ren and Tokiya are also off today. You won't be alone."
"It's okay," Cecil speaks, not the best in giving the cold shoulder. "We had some plans anyway."
Camus raises a brow. "Oh really now?" The edge of his lips tingle before giving away a playful smile.
"Of course," Cecil mirrors the act.
"Allow me, then." Camus pays Cecil another stare before buttoning up his shirt. He walks up and takes his jacket already hanging on the cabinet door. It was only early November, he didn't need anything else. Everyone except him seemed to wear clothes much more warmer, though. The prince follows Camus as he heads for the door. Camus appears to have a hard time taking steps. Just the same way, Cecil has a hard time letting him go.
On the threshold, Camus turns to face Cecil and places a small peck right below his eye, hand on the door handle, as their difference in height only allowed him to do so without bothering to lean. Cecil smiles.
Camus opens the door, a sudden draught brushes their faces. He steps outside, fixes a strand of hair that seems to be out of place, brows knitted together. "Do I look okay," He asks Cecil who is leaning against the door, watching the older man in apparent admiration.
"Magnificent as ever," Cecil speaks, dreamily. Camus was truly superior in his looks. A breathtaking face as if the gods had carved him out of divine marble. Eyes sending shivers. Lips soft and rich in colour, despite the idol's pale complexion. Cecil wanted to memorise every detail of the graceful features.
Camus closes his eyes and lets out a sharp breath, one last attempt at gaining his composure. "Take care." He leans in so slightly to kiss the prince one more time, Cecil only catches a glimpse of the movement before he stops, as he fears they might be seen. The main restraint in their relationship. Cecil nods without making a sound. Camus smiles, albeit very faintly. It was still enough. He proceeds to the stairs, doesn't turn back to look at his lover, for he thinks he might not be able to leave if their eyes meet again.
Cecil waits right on the same spot until he can't hear the subtle footsteps anymore. He closes the door and lets out a sigh.