It’s uncanny how familiar this feels; a hot desert afternoon, tucked away in an opulent palace bedchamber, lounging in silks and finery, serving Your Highness. A bit less dressed this time, perhaps, but there’s something fun about being on display for you. Rafayel feels every inch the beautiful tribute meant to appease your royal boredom…in any way you desire.

He's pretty sure you both stopped pretending this infatuation was an act the moment you straddled his lap. Thoughts of dodging pesky maids, palace guards, finding a way to get back to the cave that dumped you here in the first place; it all started to fade when your weight settled on him and his arms looped around to pull you closer.

No harm in passing a little time, right cutie?

And he’s certainly not going to complain about being hand-fed. His eyes stay locked on your face as you press a piece of fruit to his mouth, the juice staining his lips. Sure he could just part his lips, take the fruit, taste the sweet burst on his tongue; but where’s the fun in that? There’s something else he’d rather taste anyway.

With a sigh he grips your wrist to hold it still. “You’re so demanding…all right, I’ll make sure not a single drop goes to waste.” His mouth dips back down to the fruit, lapping at the juice for another moment before he pauses again.

“Since Your Highness wants to spice things up,” he muses, tugging on your wrist gently, ignoring the fruit in favor of your arm, “I’ll do my best to satisfy your every need.”

His tongue draws a path along your inner forearm; slow, methodical, and a smirk threatens to curl when your fingers let the fruit slip through them.

Clumsy you.

It bounces off the plane of his chest, rolling down each ridge of his abdomen, leaving a sticky trail of sweetness before it settles dangerously low on his hips.

“It’s sooo far away,” he pouts, eyes fluttering in something like a puppy dog expression. He gazes at you, all faux-innocence with a smoldering fire flickering just beneath.

“I can’t get it. Your Highness, could you?"