[ There's a soft voiceless murmur of encouragement at that urge to undo his buttons. Gregor is absolutely never undressed outside of his bedroom except on the rare occasions he goes swimming, so this is quite a thing for him to feel so comfortable with it.

Gregor knows that the last thing Miles wants is to be tied to a desk (Prince-Consort, if such a position were to exist, would invariably be a desk job) and doesn't imagine at all that it's entering into the equation. But it's extremely powerful to him that Miles knows about the Imperium and all that that entails, resting on Gregor's shoulders, knows it and doesn't want it but wants him. Every single piece of that must come together exactly that way for him to fall for someone. The joking is light and he has to keep it that way to contend with the churning emotion that goes through him, but that amber-gold love seeps its way over him again. ]

I'm all for it. Make good on our cover story. [ Gregor nips at his ear playfully. ] You've run off with the Emperor and the Emperor's Own Army and we've declined to return until the fuss is over. [ It's so patently ridiculous that it immediately achieves the status of impossible fantasy. ]