[Sure enough, the forehead kiss makes him blush. Another thing he's not experienced since he was too young to remember.]
I can make that happen. [No judging here! He just squeezes Sylvain's hand, then eyes the door. The mature thing to do would be to suck it up, dislodge himself from his husband, and tell the guard at the door to get a servant on making those sweet buns. But Claude doesn't particularly want to be mature right now. Yelling will do just fine.]
Guards!
[Being good enough guards that Claude trusts them to defend his bed chambers, where his injured husband lays, they immediately burst into the room, expecting a threat. Claude grins, utterly unrepentant.]
We need sweet buns. It's very important. Please pass that along to the head of staff. [She'll be sure it's all done correctly-- no one Claude doesn't personally trust makes it past the lowest rungs in his family's employ, not since he started taking on duties as crown prince.] And sorry to startle you. [But not that sorry.]
[Sylvain watches with a slowly raising eyebrow as Claude turns to the door. He can practically see the cogs turning behind those brown curls.
Claude shouts for the guards, the poor put-upon guards who probably think it's another attempt on his life, and Sylvain lifts his free hand to cover his mouth. Which has broken into a shit-eating grin. He stifles his giggles, somehow, until the order is given and the guards scurry off, at which point he dissolves into childish peals of laughter.]
Claude you're terrible! [Chastizing holds no power, however, because Sylvain is nudging with his forehead and squeezing their joined hands.] I think you just shaved five years off of each of their lives.
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I can make that happen. [No judging here! He just squeezes Sylvain's hand, then eyes the door. The mature thing to do would be to suck it up, dislodge himself from his husband, and tell the guard at the door to get a servant on making those sweet buns. But Claude doesn't particularly want to be mature right now. Yelling will do just fine.]
Guards!
[Being good enough guards that Claude trusts them to defend his bed chambers, where his injured husband lays, they immediately burst into the room, expecting a threat. Claude grins, utterly unrepentant.]
We need sweet buns. It's very important. Please pass that along to the head of staff. [She'll be sure it's all done correctly-- no one Claude doesn't personally trust makes it past the lowest rungs in his family's employ, not since he started taking on duties as crown prince.] And sorry to startle you. [But not that sorry.]
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Claude shouts for the guards, the poor put-upon guards who probably think it's another attempt on his life, and Sylvain lifts his free hand to cover his mouth. Which has broken into a shit-eating grin. He stifles his giggles, somehow, until the order is given and the guards scurry off, at which point he dissolves into childish peals of laughter.]
Claude you're terrible! [Chastizing holds no power, however, because Sylvain is nudging with his forehead and squeezing their joined hands.] I think you just shaved five years off of each of their lives.