Better gifts. Basren considered turning that comment into a flirtation, but would it seem too much like wheedling? He still hadn't sussed out Sovele's mood, though, and so kept his mouth shut. It wasn't until Sovele had pulled him into his lap that he knew the man wasn't in a fiery mood. Relief spooled out into eagerness, thankfulness. He opened his mouth to Sovele's kiss.<br/><br/>And joy. "Thank you," he said, warmly, and pressed another kiss to Sovele's temple as the king's attention had turned downward to his vest buttons. "I'll make sure you approve of the design before I put them in. You'll see how lovely they look."<br/><br/>Basren was careful, too. Sovele couldn't be any more mussed when he left the room than Basren could be. It was too much evidence, and the last thing Basren wanted was to let Sovele's wife give him grief. It would probably round back on him, and the next time Sovele fucked him, he would be made to take the care he was meant to in the first place. It would be a lesson.<br/><br/>Buttons slipped carefully through their holes, his shirt parted and tucked back where it wouldn't wrinkle too badly, the dishes slid far enough away that they wouldn't stain or spill. Basren already knew his other duties as well, his hands working over Sovele's slowly thickening cock. He gasped into open-mouthed kisses, made all the small noises of encouragement that might help spill heat down to Sovele's groin, whispered into his ear or displayed himself, slid down and used his mouth until the corners of his lips ached. He worked until Sovele was hard.<br/><br/>He'd known this was a possibility, and so there was a small bottle of oil in his pocket. His short bath had included preparation. It wouldn't prevent the first bite of pain, but Sovele sometimes preferred that. Basren had learned to live with it, even to like it at times. There was a cloth napkin still on the table for afterward.<br/><br/>Basren tested his limits on this good mood. His pants and boots had been shucked to one side, and he was bare from the chest down, his shirt hanging from his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up, parted around him. His cock was flushed, standing proudly, for Sovele to do with as he pleased. His legs were parted over Sovele's lap.<br/><br/>"Is the gift of this plant you making your interest known?" he said. He put a teasing edge to it, as though it was a flippant question.<br/><br/>Basren was low content. The only reason Sovele toyed with him was because he liked him, was fond of him, maybe felt responsible for him. For Sovele to choose him to carry on his line wouldn't be prudent. Basren knew he was destined only to be a broodmare to someone, the garden his last effort to make something lasting in the palace before he was shunted to raising children. It was expected of him. He looked forward to it, but not to the uncertainty. He would, of course, not go to someone who could take care of him like Sovele did.<br/><br/>"It's only..." Basren said. He had the bottle of oil in his hands, was slicking Sovele up. "If I could always serve you in some way, I think I would be happy."