Claude no longer feels that initial spike of anger when Aurelien issues him a command- by now, that has become an ordinary part of life. He does lift his gaze when he turns, however; he stares out the open door while Aurelien examines his newly tended to body, nice and clean and pleasantly scented from his grooming.
The guard that accompanied him here still holds onto his leash. Claude has no issue giving him a flat look; the guards and servants haven't been given permission to punish him, so he sees no reason to show them any extra respect.
It's obvious that he's kicked up some ire among the manor's help. By continuing this way, it's also clear that Claude disrespects them on purpose.
Just a small way he can amuse himself when he has very little to feel glad about.
Aurelien looks Claude over. The servants have done a fine job with him: his body is clean and hairless, and his hair has been trimmed neatly even. Satisfied, he rises from the bed; he makes no effort to conceal the sound of his footsteps as he approaches Claude and his temporary keeper, the rhythm of his gait as graceful and confident as ever.
Still, as he comes to stand behind Claude, he gives no order for him to turn and face him once more. Instead, he slips a playful arm around Claude's waist. His other hand comes up to find the fastening of Claude's collar; by now, Aurelien can navigate it by touch, and he allows the leash to fall limp in the guards hand as he unlatches it from Claude's throat.
The collar itself follows shortly thereafter. Aurelien unhooks it, and as it slips loose into his hand, he hands it off to the guard where the man still stands across from him. "You may leave us now," he declares, as his free hand curls over Claude's shoulder. "I have no need for further assistance."
The guard bows and takes his leave, the plain leather collar and the leash that goes with it disappearing with him as he shuts the heavy door behind himself. Aurelien's fingers squeeze down against Claude's shoulder—a brief touch that might just as easily suggest possessiveness as affection.
"Well?" he asks, as he suddenly releases Claude and steps back. He throws his arms wide in a broad, sweeping gesture, indicating the plain-but-comfortable room that surrounds them. "What do you think of it?"
He only tenses slightly when Aurelien's arm slips around his waist, and relaxes moments later. The hand that rises to undo the leash, and then his collar, comes as quite the surprise, however; Claude glances at Aurelien over his shoulder, a question in his eyes.
As the young lord dismisses the guard and the servant, he glances back at the two. His expression shifts back into the same flatness, with the ghost of a eyebrow quirk, as if to add: well? Your master told you to leave.
Soon, with the others gone and the door shut behind them, Claude looks back to Aurelien after the demon gives his shoulder a light squeeze. Then he steps back- Claude's eyes follow the sweep of his arms, taking in his surroundings. It's a decent enough room; comfortable and clean, but nothing particularly impressive or noteworthy. He frowns slightly, trying to determine if there's some trick to Aurelien's question, or if he is somehow missing something obvious.
In the end, he focuses his gaze back on Aurelien with obvious confusion. "It's nice enough. Why do you ask?"
"I thought my pet has earned better accommodations." His grin widens. Aurelien cocks his head, the expectant gleam in his eyes making him appear particularly pleased with himself. "Unless you would prefer that I return you to your dungeon cell...?"
He allows that threat, half-play, to hang in the air for a long second—and then he laughs, shaking his head at his own suggestion. Again, he settles his hands on Claude's shoulders, drawing him a step deeper into the room with that guiding touch.
"Come—your new wardrobe has been prepared. Allow me to dress you."
"For me?" Claude's brows draw together for a moment, but when he sees how pleased Aurelien appears with his gift, he decides that it must be real. "This is... a nice surprise."
His expression gradually softens, and a small smile creeps across his lips. Finally, his obedience is beginning to pay off- Aurelien wasn't lying when he hinted at good behavior coming with certain perks and benefits. If he keeps this up, he might eventually peek a glimmer of freedom, which is far more than he ever expected, even a few weeks back.
"Thank you," he turns that little smile on Aurelien, before returning his attention to the room.
He allows Aurelien to steer him further in, his gaze falling over each amenity with far more interest now that he knows he will be able to use them. That bed is such a significant upgrade from his cell cot that he can practically feel his back crying with joy.
Then, the wardrobe- something he eyes with wariness. While he's been eager for clothes since the first day of his capture, he has little faith in Aurelien's idea of clothing... when it comes to his 'pet', anyway.
As Claude hesitates, deliberating, Aurelien's smile rests frozen on his lips. It turns the self-satisfied curve of his mouth into something tight and brittle, and for the first time, the thought that Claude might scorn his generosity creeps over the back of his mind. Something wells within his throat at the mere notion of it: a hot, acrid rage, fit to boil over and flood his tongue at any moment.
But then Claude smiles. He looks into his eyes thanks him, without even being told. Just as swiftly, the tension melts away; his smile is again easy and playful, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with his pleasure.
The uneasiness with which Claude regards the wardrobe, on the other hand... Well, Aurelien supposes there's nothing to be done about it. He chuckles at the man's reluctant acquiescence, and as his hands fall away from Claude's shoulders, he makes a point to drag the tip of one finger down the bare skin of his back—a reminder of his nudity, as if that were something Claude could forget.
"I suppose I don't have to dress you... Would you rather go nude in front of our guests, pet?" Aurelien laughs, circling around Claude's body to stand in front of him, instead. He tilts Claude's face up by his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze—though, as he speaks, his hand drifts to his throat instead, fondling the swath of skin that had been concealed by a collar just moments ago. "If you don't care for the clothing I've chosen for you, I could garb you in nothing but jewelry, instead."
Claude's mood instantly plummets the moment Aurelien mentions guests. Neither time he's been with Aurelien around his guests has ended well for him; he has no reason to believe this time will be any different.
His back is tense as he feels a single finger run down his spine. He was nude around the council when he was first taken prisoner, and when he met Aurelien's horrific father. Now, he has a chance to wear something in public, but the feeling of dread roiling in his guts suggests whatever he wears might not be much of an improvement.
Of course, Aurelien has an even worse alternative prepared. Claude tries to school his expression into something neutral as he's forced to meet the young lord's golden eyes- practically sparkling with amusement. Claude's breath stutters momentarily, the hand drifting to his bare throat a warning of what 'nothing but jewelry' might entail.
"I would prefer the clothing," he mumbles, eyes darting back over to the wardrobe. Surely... nothing in there could be worse than being nude, right?
Claude's meek response earns another chuckle. "I thought as much," Aurelien says, making no effort to disguise the self-satisfied humor in his tone.
Aurelien's fingers are the last thing to fall away. He takes a step from Claude, and his gaze turns toward the wardrobe's dark wood—but still, his touch lingers; the pads of his fingers trail down his throat and over his chest before they finally slip away entirely, Aurelien's hand at last falling back to his side.
As Aurelien pulls open the wardrobe's doors, it would seem to confirm Claude's worst fears: even hung upright from rows of dangling hooks, the fabric within is universally scant and sheer. Aurelien seems to know what he is looking for, and before long, he draws out a garment that would appear to be little more than two strips of translucent gauze connected by golden chain.
Behind Aurelien, Claude peeks into the wardrobe. He isn't surprised by what he sees, but the reality of those pathetic excuses for clothing, physically present before his eyes, hits differently from his imagination. He can feel his face heating up as he takes in the translucent pieces- even the more ordinary pieces are still far too sexual.
How could he possibly wear these? How could Aurelien find them appealing on him? He isn't some pretty young thing- surely he will draw nothing but laughter and ridicule dressed in any of those.
But then another thought hits him. By the Gods above, why should he care what Aurelien's guests think of him? He almost wants laugh- his life as Aurelien's 'pet' is becoming too normal for him if he's worried about embarrassing himself among the demons. It could even be a good thing... if they think he looks absurd, they might leave him alone.
Mind made up, Claude turns as ordered, lifting his arms over his head.
"I'm going to look ridiculous," he says, but doesn't argue otherwise. He can at least make Aurelien aware of his opinion on these outfits.
Aurelien clicks his tongue, chiding. "Are you truly so unaware of your own charms, Claude? I must admit, I find that hard to believe."
Aurelien drops to one knee behind Claude in a casual, fluid motion. The garment rests low where Aurelien loops it around Claude's hips; he binds it shut with its interlocking loops of gold chain, its dimensions so well-measured that there isn't even a spare inch of metal to hang down against Claude's exposed thigh. Even so, its color stands strikingly against the warmth of Claude's skin, and Aurelien allows himself a moment to linger and admire the sight of it, his strong hands giving the seam between Claude's thighs and his ass a nonchalant squeeze as he does.
"Simply exquisite," he purrs—and, just in case his point hasn't already been made, Aurelien leans forward to press a kiss to the base of Claude's spine. He allows his lips to linger there for a moment, playful, and then he rises again, returning to the wardrobe to find a matching top.
Claude. Not pet or prince. Though Aurelien using his name is little comfort when he looks down at the sheer cloth coving hardly anything, with slits down the sides that make it easy for someone to slide a hand beneath. Aurelien demonstrates straight away, giving him a firm squeeze.
"I'm far too old for something like this to highlight my 'charms'," he sighs, lowering his arms once the garment was in place. "You won't find many humans wearing these types of clothes."
While mostly true, he purposefully leaves out the reason why any humans might wear this type of outfit- slaves, servants- and how he does fit into that category now.
Claude feels Aurelien's lips press, soft and warm, at the base of his spine. He glances down at his legs, their outline smooth and hairless beneath the garment- it still feels so strange to see himself this way.
"Claude, if you keep saying such foolish things," Aurelien purrs in warning, casting a glance over his shoulder, "you'll leave me no choice but to demonstrate. So, by all means—tell me again how unappealing you are."
Aurelien turns to the wardrobe again, huffing with humor. Such a gorgeous man... Is he simply making excuses to get out of wearing the clothing Aurelien has chosen for him, or does he truly not realize his own beauty? Well, he supposes it doesn't matter. No matter how he complains, he and Aurelien both know he doesn't have a choice.
The top Aurelien picks out matches perfectly: the same deep purple hue, the same scantness of cloth, the same half-transparency of the fabric. It's made to loop around the neck and cover little more than the triangle of Claude's chest, fastened in place behind Claude's back with another thread of golden chain. Aurelien crosses around to stand in front of Claude, this time; as he tugs the sheer fabric over Claude's head, he again directs, "Lift your arms."
Claude again. Twice in a row made it unlikely to be a coincidence. Interesting.
He wonders if Aurelien is addressing him by name to help soften him up for the evening- that and a new room on the same day. It isn't going to work, but it's worth considering.
Just about everything Aurelien does and says is worth considering. As little as he wants to admit that his life revolves around the young demon, there are some realities impossible to ignore entirely.
"I just mean..." he trails off, deciding it's for the best to drop the subject. Even if Aurelien finds his explanation satisfactory, he might see further objection as an excuse to 'demonstrate.' Best to save his energy for whatever horrors await.
Aurelien returns with a matching piece of transparent fabric. Claude lifts his arms again when ordered, his gaze fixed on the wall over the Aurelien's shoulder. The clothing is so lightweight that he hardly feels any different than before.
"...What event will we be attending this evening?"
"Claude," Aurelien hums—a third time, so casually that the name sounds weightless on Aurelien's tongue as he chides, "either look me in the eye, or bow your head."
Not that it matters, now. Aurelien steps around Claude again, fastening the garment where its chain hangs below his shoulder blades. The cloth is comfortably fit and pliable enough that, much like the skirt hanging below, Aurelien could easily slip his fingers beneath the fabric and fondle Claude's chest; this time, though, he doesn't, merely reaching around Claude's body to straighten the edges of the top.
"Papà is hosting a banquet," Aurelien answers, finally. "Do not concern yourself overmuch with the details. No one there will be expecting you to speak."
Those words of advice are delivered with nonchalance, so blunt as to be a reminder of Claude's place in and of itself. Aurelien doesn't appear to afford the thought much consideration, himself; instead, his arms coil around Claude's waist, and again he ducks his head to press a brief kiss to Claude's skin. He chooses Claude's neck, this time, his lips sucking at the flesh a mere inch above the neckline of his top.
"Now... Sleeves, or a shawl...?"
The question appears to be a rhetorical one, as Aurelien rubs his hands up and down Claude's biceps in consideration.
Claude freezes at the mention of Aurelien's father. Just as he was talking himself into accepting these scant excuses for clothing, his mind skips to a vision of Lord Calix's cold eyes sweeping over his body. His shoulders stiffen as he imagines the elder Calix casually asking for him, and Aurelien handing him over without hesitation.
When he realizes he's holding his breath, Claude forces himself to exhale, then inhale slowly. He reminds himself that the arms curled around his waist right then are Aurelien's, and not his father's. Still, he bows his head, trying to steady his quickened pulse even as Aurelien's teases the sensitive, bare flesh of his neck.
"I-" He pauses immediately after speaking: what good would it do to mention his fear of Lord Calix? Knowing Aurelien, he might be more encouraged to present him to his father again if he knew.
"-a shawl," he interjects, trying not to shiver as Aurelien's hands slowly rubbed up and down his biceps.
"I wasn't asking your opinion," Aurelien says, his words abruptly leaden with an ominous weight—the voice not of a man angered by Claude's interruption, but one threatening to become so with another out-of-turn reply. "Now, let's see..."
His hands wander up to Claude's shoulder. Their grip tightens in one final squeeze, and then Aurelien turns away. There's a faint jingle of golden chains as Aurelien rifles through the garments still hanging within the wardrobe—their cloth, evidently, too light to even rustle—and as he draws free a shimmering capelet for his consideration, he asks, "How are you finding the book I've loaned you, by the way?"
Any menace that had been in his tone is gone again. The question is light and conversational. After all, he really does want to hear Claude's reply.
He doesn't comment further on the clothes- Claude doesn't want to wear any of this, so asking for alternatives would be pointless.
Briefly, he looks down at himself. Such a sorry excuse for an outfit... if anyone he knew were to see him this way, he would almost certainly die from the sheer strength of his humiliation. Hopefully Lord Calix won't be impressed either.
Claude's attention snaps back to Aurelien when he asks about the book he'd been reading over the past week. His mind greedily pounces on the excuse to talk, to think, about anything else.
"Oh, it's a very interesting read," he starts, folding his arms over his still mostly-bare chest, watching as Aurelien searches through the wardrobe. "The author has a way with words. He almost comes across as sarcastic... I get the impression he doesn't have much respect for the stories he's telling."
"I was wondering if you'd pick up on all of the humor... I suppose some things are universal, hm?"
In fact, that had been part of the reason for Aurelien's choice in reading material. He had been curious as to what Claude would make of a satirical work with only assumptions and his wits to guide him. Undoubtedly, there would be some jokes he lacked the context to parse, but... It sounds as though he had understood enough to enjoy himself, nonetheless.
"You might think of it as a manual of our foibles and follies." Again, Aurelien turns from the wardrobe to face Claude. The jingle of delicate gold chain accompanies his voice, and in his hands, he holds what appears to be little more than a bundle of gauzy ribbon and metalwork. "Useful, no? After all, how not to conduct oneself is just as valuable a lesson as the inverse."
He takes a step closer. "Now, hold out your arms again. I need to slip this onto you."
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The guard that accompanied him here still holds onto his leash. Claude has no issue giving him a flat look; the guards and servants haven't been given permission to punish him, so he sees no reason to show them any extra respect.
It's obvious that he's kicked up some ire among the manor's help. By continuing this way, it's also clear that Claude disrespects them on purpose.
Just a small way he can amuse himself when he has very little to feel glad about.
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Still, as he comes to stand behind Claude, he gives no order for him to turn and face him once more. Instead, he slips a playful arm around Claude's waist. His other hand comes up to find the fastening of Claude's collar; by now, Aurelien can navigate it by touch, and he allows the leash to fall limp in the guards hand as he unlatches it from Claude's throat.
The collar itself follows shortly thereafter. Aurelien unhooks it, and as it slips loose into his hand, he hands it off to the guard where the man still stands across from him. "You may leave us now," he declares, as his free hand curls over Claude's shoulder. "I have no need for further assistance."
The guard bows and takes his leave, the plain leather collar and the leash that goes with it disappearing with him as he shuts the heavy door behind himself. Aurelien's fingers squeeze down against Claude's shoulder—a brief touch that might just as easily suggest possessiveness as affection.
"Well?" he asks, as he suddenly releases Claude and steps back. He throws his arms wide in a broad, sweeping gesture, indicating the plain-but-comfortable room that surrounds them. "What do you think of it?"
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As the young lord dismisses the guard and the servant, he glances back at the two. His expression shifts back into the same flatness, with the ghost of a eyebrow quirk, as if to add: well? Your master told you to leave.
Soon, with the others gone and the door shut behind them, Claude looks back to Aurelien after the demon gives his shoulder a light squeeze. Then he steps back- Claude's eyes follow the sweep of his arms, taking in his surroundings. It's a decent enough room; comfortable and clean, but nothing particularly impressive or noteworthy. He frowns slightly, trying to determine if there's some trick to Aurelien's question, or if he is somehow missing something obvious.
In the end, he focuses his gaze back on Aurelien with obvious confusion. "It's nice enough. Why do you ask?"
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He allows that threat, half-play, to hang in the air for a long second—and then he laughs, shaking his head at his own suggestion. Again, he settles his hands on Claude's shoulders, drawing him a step deeper into the room with that guiding touch.
"Come—your new wardrobe has been prepared. Allow me to dress you."
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His expression gradually softens, and a small smile creeps across his lips. Finally, his obedience is beginning to pay off- Aurelien wasn't lying when he hinted at good behavior coming with certain perks and benefits. If he keeps this up, he might eventually peek a glimmer of freedom, which is far more than he ever expected, even a few weeks back.
"Thank you," he turns that little smile on Aurelien, before returning his attention to the room.
He allows Aurelien to steer him further in, his gaze falling over each amenity with far more interest now that he knows he will be able to use them. That bed is such a significant upgrade from his cell cot that he can practically feel his back crying with joy.
Then, the wardrobe- something he eyes with wariness. While he's been eager for clothes since the first day of his capture, he has little faith in Aurelien's idea of clothing... when it comes to his 'pet', anyway.
"...All right. Let's see what's inside."
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But then Claude smiles. He looks into his eyes thanks him, without even being told. Just as swiftly, the tension melts away; his smile is again easy and playful, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with his pleasure.
The uneasiness with which Claude regards the wardrobe, on the other hand... Well, Aurelien supposes there's nothing to be done about it. He chuckles at the man's reluctant acquiescence, and as his hands fall away from Claude's shoulders, he makes a point to drag the tip of one finger down the bare skin of his back—a reminder of his nudity, as if that were something Claude could forget.
"I suppose I don't have to dress you... Would you rather go nude in front of our guests, pet?" Aurelien laughs, circling around Claude's body to stand in front of him, instead. He tilts Claude's face up by his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze—though, as he speaks, his hand drifts to his throat instead, fondling the swath of skin that had been concealed by a collar just moments ago. "If you don't care for the clothing I've chosen for you, I could garb you in nothing but jewelry, instead."
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His back is tense as he feels a single finger run down his spine. He was nude around the council when he was first taken prisoner, and when he met Aurelien's horrific father. Now, he has a chance to wear something in public, but the feeling of dread roiling in his guts suggests whatever he wears might not be much of an improvement.
Of course, Aurelien has an even worse alternative prepared. Claude tries to school his expression into something neutral as he's forced to meet the young lord's golden eyes- practically sparkling with amusement. Claude's breath stutters momentarily, the hand drifting to his bare throat a warning of what 'nothing but jewelry' might entail.
"I would prefer the clothing," he mumbles, eyes darting back over to the wardrobe. Surely... nothing in there could be worse than being nude, right?
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Aurelien's fingers are the last thing to fall away. He takes a step from Claude, and his gaze turns toward the wardrobe's dark wood—but still, his touch lingers; the pads of his fingers trail down his throat and over his chest before they finally slip away entirely, Aurelien's hand at last falling back to his side.
As Aurelien pulls open the wardrobe's doors, it would seem to confirm Claude's worst fears: even hung upright from rows of dangling hooks, the fabric within is universally scant and sheer. Aurelien seems to know what he is looking for, and before long, he draws out a garment that would appear to be little more than two strips of translucent gauze connected by golden chain.
"Here — turn around and lift your arms up."
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How could he possibly wear these? How could Aurelien find them appealing on him? He isn't some pretty young thing- surely he will draw nothing but laughter and ridicule dressed in any of those.
But then another thought hits him. By the Gods above, why should he care what Aurelien's guests think of him? He almost wants laugh- his life as Aurelien's 'pet' is becoming too normal for him if he's worried about embarrassing himself among the demons. It could even be a good thing... if they think he looks absurd, they might leave him alone.
Mind made up, Claude turns as ordered, lifting his arms over his head.
"I'm going to look ridiculous," he says, but doesn't argue otherwise. He can at least make Aurelien aware of his opinion on these outfits.
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Aurelien drops to one knee behind Claude in a casual, fluid motion. The garment rests low where Aurelien loops it around Claude's hips; he binds it shut with its interlocking loops of gold chain, its dimensions so well-measured that there isn't even a spare inch of metal to hang down against Claude's exposed thigh. Even so, its color stands strikingly against the warmth of Claude's skin, and Aurelien allows himself a moment to linger and admire the sight of it, his strong hands giving the seam between Claude's thighs and his ass a nonchalant squeeze as he does.
"Simply exquisite," he purrs—and, just in case his point hasn't already been made, Aurelien leans forward to press a kiss to the base of Claude's spine. He allows his lips to linger there for a moment, playful, and then he rises again, returning to the wardrobe to find a matching top.
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"I'm far too old for something like this to highlight my 'charms'," he sighs, lowering his arms once the garment was in place. "You won't find many humans wearing these types of clothes."
While mostly true, he purposefully leaves out the reason why any humans might wear this type of outfit- slaves, servants- and how he does fit into that category now.
Claude feels Aurelien's lips press, soft and warm, at the base of his spine. He glances down at his legs, their outline smooth and hairless beneath the garment- it still feels so strange to see himself this way.
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Aurelien turns to the wardrobe again, huffing with humor. Such a gorgeous man... Is he simply making excuses to get out of wearing the clothing Aurelien has chosen for him, or does he truly not realize his own beauty? Well, he supposes it doesn't matter. No matter how he complains, he and Aurelien both know he doesn't have a choice.
The top Aurelien picks out matches perfectly: the same deep purple hue, the same scantness of cloth, the same half-transparency of the fabric. It's made to loop around the neck and cover little more than the triangle of Claude's chest, fastened in place behind Claude's back with another thread of golden chain. Aurelien crosses around to stand in front of Claude, this time; as he tugs the sheer fabric over Claude's head, he again directs, "Lift your arms."
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He wonders if Aurelien is addressing him by name to help soften him up for the evening- that and a new room on the same day. It isn't going to work, but it's worth considering.
Just about everything Aurelien does and says is worth considering. As little as he wants to admit that his life revolves around the young demon, there are some realities impossible to ignore entirely.
"I just mean..." he trails off, deciding it's for the best to drop the subject. Even if Aurelien finds his explanation satisfactory, he might see further objection as an excuse to 'demonstrate.' Best to save his energy for whatever horrors await.
Aurelien returns with a matching piece of transparent fabric. Claude lifts his arms again when ordered, his gaze fixed on the wall over the Aurelien's shoulder. The clothing is so lightweight that he hardly feels any different than before.
"...What event will we be attending this evening?"
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Not that it matters, now. Aurelien steps around Claude again, fastening the garment where its chain hangs below his shoulder blades. The cloth is comfortably fit and pliable enough that, much like the skirt hanging below, Aurelien could easily slip his fingers beneath the fabric and fondle Claude's chest; this time, though, he doesn't, merely reaching around Claude's body to straighten the edges of the top.
"Papà is hosting a banquet," Aurelien answers, finally. "Do not concern yourself overmuch with the details. No one there will be expecting you to speak."
Those words of advice are delivered with nonchalance, so blunt as to be a reminder of Claude's place in and of itself. Aurelien doesn't appear to afford the thought much consideration, himself; instead, his arms coil around Claude's waist, and again he ducks his head to press a brief kiss to Claude's skin. He chooses Claude's neck, this time, his lips sucking at the flesh a mere inch above the neckline of his top.
"Now... Sleeves, or a shawl...?"
The question appears to be a rhetorical one, as Aurelien rubs his hands up and down Claude's biceps in consideration.
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When he realizes he's holding his breath, Claude forces himself to exhale, then inhale slowly. He reminds himself that the arms curled around his waist right then are Aurelien's, and not his father's. Still, he bows his head, trying to steady his quickened pulse even as Aurelien's teases the sensitive, bare flesh of his neck.
"I-" He pauses immediately after speaking: what good would it do to mention his fear of Lord Calix? Knowing Aurelien, he might be more encouraged to present him to his father again if he knew.
"-a shawl," he interjects, trying not to shiver as Aurelien's hands slowly rubbed up and down his biceps.
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His hands wander up to Claude's shoulder. Their grip tightens in one final squeeze, and then Aurelien turns away. There's a faint jingle of golden chains as Aurelien rifles through the garments still hanging within the wardrobe—their cloth, evidently, too light to even rustle—and as he draws free a shimmering capelet for his consideration, he asks, "How are you finding the book I've loaned you, by the way?"
Any menace that had been in his tone is gone again. The question is light and conversational. After all, he really does want to hear Claude's reply.
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Briefly, he looks down at himself. Such a sorry excuse for an outfit... if anyone he knew were to see him this way, he would almost certainly die from the sheer strength of his humiliation. Hopefully Lord Calix won't be impressed either.
Claude's attention snaps back to Aurelien when he asks about the book he'd been reading over the past week. His mind greedily pounces on the excuse to talk, to think, about anything else.
"Oh, it's a very interesting read," he starts, folding his arms over his still mostly-bare chest, watching as Aurelien searches through the wardrobe. "The author has a way with words. He almost comes across as sarcastic... I get the impression he doesn't have much respect for the stories he's telling."
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In fact, that had been part of the reason for Aurelien's choice in reading material. He had been curious as to what Claude would make of a satirical work with only assumptions and his wits to guide him. Undoubtedly, there would be some jokes he lacked the context to parse, but... It sounds as though he had understood enough to enjoy himself, nonetheless.
"You might think of it as a manual of our foibles and follies." Again, Aurelien turns from the wardrobe to face Claude. The jingle of delicate gold chain accompanies his voice, and in his hands, he holds what appears to be little more than a bundle of gauzy ribbon and metalwork. "Useful, no? After all, how not to conduct oneself is just as valuable a lesson as the inverse."
He takes a step closer. "Now, hold out your arms again. I need to slip this onto you."