Bramblepoint [M] The Night Comes Down like Heaven

A large stone had been dragged through the grass to serve as a table, and it was beside it now that Machi sat, his opalescent gaze gleaming as though he had plucked the very moon from the sky. Only if you'd do it yourself, He murmured, a velvety rumble barely more than a whisper in his pale throat. His eyes were half-lidded in contemplation, the challenge—or was it an invitation?—hanging in the air between them like the gossamer threads of a spider's web.

He shifted slightly, the movement drawing attention to the sleek lines of his form, the graceful curve of his limbs. Or are you more of the type to sit back and watch? Machiavelli continued, his lips curling into a faint smile, more a soft shift in expression than a full grin. His voice held a teasing edge, a playful note that contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze. The fireflies flitted around him, casting tiny sparks of light that danced across his features, highlighting the soft curl of his lips.

The pleasure is mine, Highness, Machi assured softly. Will you join me? He gestured to an open place beside him, the invitation clear. I brought wine from the store-room as well, if you need more tempting.