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“Are these really necessary?” Zavala lets a few rose petals drift from his palm back to the pile of curled reds and pinks that blanket the bed beneath him. “What?” Cayde quirks a brow plate as he settles himself over the Awoken's lap. “You don't like them?" “They seem... excessive.” He eyes the flood that laps at his wrists as he leans back and the heaping piles on the floor. There's a slightly dipping path where the two had waded toward the bed just moments before. “It's as if you've transmatted all of the Tower’s Crimson Days decor into your room.” “I mean, today's the last day. They're just going to get swept away tomorrow so…” Zavala chuckles at the skirting confession but his breath catches when Cayde's fingers spread over his chest, firmly push him down until his back hits the bed and petals settle around his ears. “Just wanted the chance to enjoy them with you. In private.” “So we will,” the Commander concedes easily to bright Exo blues and guides Cayde the last few inches into a slow kiss. If Cayde wants to make the evening special, then Zavala will not deny him. Within reason, of course. The Exo seems to melt at the tentative approval of his plan's latest stage, fitting his body along the peaks and valleys of the Titan laid out beneath him with familiar ease. The movement of mouths may be measured, with the careful press of plating to flesh and kitten-like flicks of Zavala's tongue, but the rest of Cayde's body moves with growing urgency. Zavala finds himself also rising to the tempo of wandering hands and rolling hips. Much like the roses, the formal suits seemed unnecessary at first. Especially when the pitch of Cayde's voice had assured Zavala that the clothes wouldn't be staying for the entire evening. But now that two sets of hands are twisting at buttoned jackets and ghosting crisp shirts beneath, Zavala could applaud Cayde's insistence on tonight's dress code. There's something about divesting each other of coverings other than armor that lends an element of fantasy to the evening. As if they are any two men of the City madly in love and not Guardians of station who will have to part in mere hours. They wrestle off Cayde's sleek jacket and the Exo's hands fly to Zavala's thighs where steel gray slacks are pulled tight across muscle. “This was such a good idea,” Cayde affirms between soft presses of his lips and sliding knees. But it's the growl that follows, one that matches the intensity of the metal fingers raking over Zavala's inner thigh, that startles the Awoken. Whimpers, whines, purring sighs...those are all noises Zavala is used to hearing from his bed mate. The fine hairs at the back of his neck stand at attention when Cayde's clutching hands map the swelling erection beneath Zavala's slacks and the Exo growls again into the Commander's parting mouth. “This is mine.” The statement travels like electricity along the roof Zavala's mouth until he swallows and sets his stomach buzzing instead. Zavala flushes, as much aroused by the unexpected possessiveness as he is embarrassed by his own reaction to it. He fists the silky tie dangling above him and anchors Cayde into a hard kiss that might help them both forget the Commander’s desperately needy moan. Cayde meets him with enthusiasm but it's impossible to miss the rainbow of colors painting blue skin and even a tongue snaking into his mouth can't stop an intrigued hum from escaping the Exo. “You want that?” Cayde rumbles around static and the slick invader attacking his hard palate. “For me to take control? To take care of you?” Zavala grunts and jerks beneath him, grinding up into the Exo’s tightening grip and the insistent weight of a metal pelvis before his shoulders fall back to the bed and his legs twitch akimbo, coordination sacrificed on the altar of desire but his interest crystal clear. The Hunter Vanguard is no slouch of a partner in bed but it's true that, even though Cayde is the primary instigator of their sexual encounters, Zavala is always the one in charge. Which is why Cayde's cock twitches violently enough to tent his fly when Zavala croaks out an affirmative noise and manages the barest nod. "Whatever you want, Cayde." Any other day, any other scenario, Cayde might say something teasing and snappy just to rub in the fact that Zavala needs the Hunter Vanguard for more than warming a spot around the war table. But tonight, Zavala is doing the reminding for him with each quick breath of anticipation, the popping gasp when Cayde wrenches the Commander's belt from its buckle, the mindless groan when Cayde finally gets his hand around his prize. Cayde could listen to his partner all night but there's an overwhelming urge to watch Zavala come that fogs over a large portion of Cayde's mind and the Exo forgets the Grand Plan he's been constructing for days. ‘Suck him off,’ screams some part of him that vaguely remembers the itinerary. 'Make sure it's good for him!’ Only he can't bear to lose even a second of Zavala's face twisting in pleasure and his hand speeds up while the other rucks up the Awoken's shirt, wrinkling once smooth fabric in his haste to watch the muscles of Zavala's lower abdomen dance in imminent release. The Commander neither knows nor cares about the depths of Cayde's scheming. All he knows is that the breakneck pace of Cayde's fist is a welcome change after an evening of dinner and dancing and trying to pretend he wasn't thinking about who's room they would wind up in and how soon that might happen. "I wanna fuck you," Cayde admits but does so in a pained stutter recognizable as a warning that he will not make it that far. "I wanna fuck you so bad." Cayde kisses him instead. That pent up desire crashes into Zavala's lips and makes his jaw ache. Orgasm takes Zavala by surprise. One second Cayde's name burns at the tip of his tongue and the next, he's pulling at the seams of the Exo's shoulders and soaking a lightly starched collar with wet gasps. Cayde shakes at least as badly as his partner by the time Zavala slumps back to the bed in a small puff of roses. The Awoken's aura flickers wildly across flushed skin, petals dot his rumpled suit, come glitters against the matte red of his tie and slicks the sunset gradient of his cock. The sight is so arresting, Cayde only notices the wet smear across his own pants when Zavala huffs an affectionate breath and trails his fingers across damp fabric. “Aw shit. Sorry.” The crack in his voice more than makes up for Cayde's inability to blush. “I meant for that to be...so much longer.” Zavala reaches for his own tie, fingers still a bit tremulous, and pulls the knot from his throat to better facilitate a deep inhale before licking over a small split in his kiss-swollen lips. “Are you saying we're done for the evening?" The challenging twist of Zavala's lips has Cayde's artificial heart hammering. "No," Cayde promises as he takes a moment to toss Zavala's shiny dress shoes into the nearest rose mound. "Not by a long shot."