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A muffled growl of frustration from the other side of the room caught his attention. Sven looked towards the small desk by the window, to find his Master scrubbing at his face wearily.
He glanced quickly at the clock at their beside. It was getting late again, and he was worried about the way His Majesty had been overdoing it; as far as Sven was concerned, the Alliance expected far too much of Lotor, always trying to bring him under their collective heels. And the disconcerting truth was that neither he nor the King were getting any younger; the frightening part was that, lately, his Master had been showing it.
His response was reflex. The luxurious carpet muffled his bare footsteps as he crossed the room and slipped his hands over his Master's shoulders, rubbing gently. Unsure, as usual, of exactly what kind of reaction he could expect from the King in this mood, Sven held his tongue. He wasn't afraid; he hadn't been for many years.
The King murmured a sound of appreciation into his hands, a soft groan of gratitude. As Sven continued to work out the knots here and there, Lotor leant into the warm touch and tipped his head back to rest against the fabric of Sven's rich red robe, an expression of pure bliss on his upturned face. A small smile touched his lips, and in response Sven gently traced the creases marked deep in his Master's brow.
"I know, I know," Lotor murmured, his eyes still closed. "You're thinking that I should leave this till tomorrow."
The remark startled Sven. "I wouldn't think anything so presumptuous, Your Majesty," he replied cautiously.
Again, Lotor surprised him by chuckling. His eyes opened to look directly up into Sven's face, a hint of warmth touching his Master's possessive gaze, surprising Sven even more as the King reached out and trailed a single finger along Sven's jaw. "You tell such pretty lies," he murmured.
Sven hid his confusion by smoothing away the stress lines in Lotor's face with his thumbs and fingertips. Lotor's eyelids drifted closed again, but Sven found the smile on his Master's lips to be unnerving in its tranquillity. It wasn't as if this had never happened before, but it was unusual enough to set Sven's mind whirling.
Sven couldn't help but notice the pallid thinness of his own skin stretched taut in places over slightly knotted knuckles. His hands seemed crepier than the King's, even though there were only a few years between them. Lack of exposure to sunlight, he supposed; in the last eighteen years or so he'd attended no more than two or three Alliance events a year, the only times he was ever allowed out of the royal apartments or the throne room, let alone off planet.
It was a secret pleasure of his - it always had been, despite the shame it had inspired when he was younger - to sink his hands into Lotor's hair, to feel its softness between his fingers, probably the only soft thing about the man at all. Shorter now, yes, not quite as luxurious in its thickness, but still so, so tempting beneath his touch. The King's low murmur of enjoyment as Sven combed his fingers through the cropped length then massaged in turn, made it all the easier to indulge.
He had to admit His Majesty was still a handsome devil, even now as he slipped towards older age, and never more so than when he smiled like this. Sven had watched that face change over the years and that smile along with it - so often, now, much less than the vicious sneer he'd once been used to.
His heart gave an odd patter-thud at the idea that this was a Lotor he was positive never left their private domain.
A slight smile of his own tugged at his lips as Lotor all but purred beneath his gentle attentions. This was the one place where Sven knew he held the upper hand - years had gone into learning precisely what would make his Master more pliable, more susceptible to his hints and carefully veiled suggestions.
Truthfully though, Sven had found his own contentment in the King's predictably impassioned response. Quid pro quo, perhaps. Or Sven enjoying his spoils of their very peculiar war.
Not that it mattered, as Lotor exhaled softly and reached out to flip the folder closed without bothering to open his eyes. "You're right, of course," he murmured. "This'll still be here in the morning." He cracked his eyelids open, just a little bit, and grinned slightly. "Bed, I think," he said.
Sven stepped back to allow the King to shift the chair and stand, watching attentively as Lotor stretched slightly to ease cramped muscles. Routine as much as anything had Sven carefully easing his Master's clothes away with just a brush of caressing to his touch. It had never hurt to drop that hint his Master's way, a subtle trace of acceptance that always pleased the King in all the right ways.
His Majesty's curious mood seemed to follow him to the bed, quietly absorbed as Sven carefully knelt to remove his Master's boots. A heavy hand suddenly settled on Sven's age-whitened hair, a slow, contemplative touch stirring amongst the thinning strands.
"They keep pushing me towards an edge I can't cross," Lotor murmured. "I can't afford to go there; they'll take everything I've worked to keep. I can't..." Trailing off, his brow knit. "I have no idea how to get around it."
Sven kept his gaze on his Master's feet, peeling away one sock then the other as he ordered his thoughts with meticulous care. It was times like this when His Majesty was hardest to read, yet often the most malleable.
"When I was very young, a toddler really," he began slowly, "I'm told I used to get very jealous if my little brother had something I didn't." Practised hands drew the King's light evening trousers down to be gently removed, right foot then left. "Apparently I used to get around it by offering him something unexpected in one hand and, while his attention was focused on it, take what I wanted with the other." Sven paused and offered a coyish smile from beneath his lashes. "At least, that's what my Mam told me. She said it was a valuable lesson she thought I should remember."
The King's smile softened again, an inscrutable look burning in his eyes. "Your mother was very wise," he murmured, and his hand slid down to cup Sven's cheek, broad thumb caressing, slow and ... good God, fondly, Sven would have said of anyone else. "It's a good thing she passed the talent on."
Sven felt his heart lurch, his rheumy-blue eyes widening with near shock. He couldn't recall the last time ... no, he'd never heard his Master acknowledge him so directly, never in all these years. Was something wrong, was his Master actually ill, and just not mentioning it? Was this why the King had been so tired lately? Or was it just another part of the man's mercurial mood, only to right itself by morning.
To hide his worrying, Sven stood stiffly, ostensibly to throw his Master's clothes into the King's changing room. His movements became hampered by an unco-operative hip, and suddenly familiar broad hands were there, steadying him as he shifted his weight to a better position, supporting him as he found his feet; there as they'd always been there, possessive and owning even as His Majesty helped him up.
The discarded clothes were taken from his hands and tossed far off into the room, and Sven was left to contend with a Lotor staring up at him, that inscrutable expression there again with just a hint of want lurking beneath.
Sven allowed himself a soft murmur of pleasure as those hands slid carefully beneath his loosely tied robe, closing his eyes against the depth of intent in his Master's as Lotor's palms ran up along his ribs, traced the expanse of his chest, fingers tracing the line of his clavicle, the curve of his shoulders, and then carefully pushed the robe away.
Despite the old ache of pride flinching at how easily Sven immersed himself in the sensation of His Majesty's touch, he knew it could have been a lot worse: he could have endured decades of the brutality he'd suffered in his early months of servitude. Without really thinking about it, Sven's hands found his Master's shoulders with a sense of familiar expectation as Lotor pulled him closer.
And again His Majesty managed to surprise Sven as he wrapped his strong arms firmly around Sven's waist and back, drawing him so damn close so he could bury his face against Sven's chest and simply rest there for long, aching moments.
Bemused, Sven didn't know quite what to do; it wasn't as if Lotor had ever given much by the way of affection unless he wanted Sven beneath him. The King's breath felt warm against his skin, but there was nothing overtly arousing in the embrace this time.
Instinct and decades of learning to preempt his Master's desires had Sven wrapping his own arms around the King. One hand stroked through his Master's hair, sifting and playing with the textures, and he allowed a private smile to himself as Lotor relaxed further into his arms with a satisfied mumble.
And when Lotor looked up at him again with that smug, pleased expression, it was pure impulsiveness on Sven's part to steal a slow if rather brief kiss, the softest slide of lips against lips.
Lotor blinked at him in wry bemusement as they parted. "Well now. Aren't we forward?"
Instantly, Sven paled, realising he might have seriously overstepped the boundary. He started to stammer an apology, only to be cut short by another of his Master's unexpected chuckles as he was tugged onto the bed to join Lotor beneath the covers, his back to his Master's chest, the King's arm possessive around his waist.
Feeling quite lost, Sven searched for something to say to appease any lingering displeasure. Then he remembered Zelas Four's wayward governor.
"There's a rumour that Narak could be brought in tomorrow," he said carefully into the night.
"Mmm." Lotor nuzzled the hair at his nape, but let his sleepy murmur speak for itself. "Stupid fool might have ruined everything."
Pulling the King's arm closer around him, Sven realised he might be able to kill both of tonight's problems in one simple strike. He phrased his suggestion as carefully as ever, couched in veiled deference, knowing that, as usual, the idea probably hadn't even crossed his Master's mind.
"So, have the Alliance representatives for the trial responded yet?" It was a concession they would no doubt be surprised at.
Lotor stilled behind him, and for a moment Sven thought he might have miscalculated, until a warm, pleased chuckle and a light squeeze reassured him. Again, Lotor nuzzled his nape. Sven could feel his slight grin. "Someone is much, much too clever," Lotor murmured, then kissed the line of his shoulder. "Much to my advantage." He chuckled again, then settled them both more comfortably. "Now, put that overworked mind to rest. I dare say it will have enough to wrangle with in the next few days as it is."
Another sliver of unease slithered through him. Something definitely wasn't right. Why the hell was the King acting so damn strangely? And if Lotor did fall ill, what would become of Sven? The idea of being left behind made him feel bereft, for some reason. Should he...
Damn, his Master was right. He had to stop thinking so much, and worrying like this wasn't going to get him anywhere tonight. He could work on it tomorrow. Sleep. Yes, sleep was a good idea.
Not quite as easy to do, however, Sven found. For a while, he drifted on the edge of dropping off, relaxing in that peculiar sense of being sheltered by the arms surrounding him. His Master seemed just as reluctant to let slumber overtake him, though, hands slowly tracing comfortably familiar lines on Sven's skin.
"I don't care what they think they can take from me," he felt murmured drowsily into his shoulder. "I'm not letting you go."
Ah. So that was it. A small shaft of disappointment speared his heart at such a blatant reminder, even as a sense of relief welled up inside. It certainly explained at least part of his Master's odd mood tonight, if not his unusual attentiveness.
And some small part of Sven had to admit, it was nice, being wanted, even if it was like this.
Lotor seemed to fall asleep easily after that. Sven, however, struggled with his own thoughts. After a while, he turned over to settle himself into the curve of the King's shoulder. He could hear his Master's slow, steady heartbeat, and noticed an occasional thready sound. He'd noted it before, once or twice, but had never quite put it in the category of 'something urgent to deal with'.
Sliding into sleep, Sven made the decision to have someone approach the court surgeon in the morning. Perhaps he could suggest that the good doctor recommend that the King have a general physical. There were too many things he needed Lotor to finish; he couldn't afford for his Master to become ill.
He felt Lotor shift in his sleep, arm curled loosely by Sven's hip, and Sven nuzzled the shoulder beneath his cheek sleepily. Yes, tomorrow. There was always tomorrow, he could deal with things then.
Tonight he had the beginnings of a headache.