Dorian AragonaHis Royal Highness

How glorious this snow was! Even if he was not entirely assured he understood exactly how it had come to be, Sebastian's explanation having caused his features to frown but lightly in a deeper contemplation of the notion with which he was presented. It made some sense, he supposed, that the air was so cold the very rain was given to freeze and fall as snow and yet why it was white seemed to result in further puzzlement to the man. Rain, after all, was not white. Dorian's ever curious mind inclined to consider a wealth of possibilities many others surely would not and yet so many years of his own isolation from the rest of the world had resulted in a ready inquisitiveness of each and every facet of it- as if he was determined in some sense- to make up for all he had missed. His gloves are returned to his hands in due course, chasing away that chill that seemed to afflict them, his eyes rolling in a truly playful sense at Sebastian's continued care of him, his own words holding a near sarcastically playful edge. Dorian wholly oblivious to the notion that losing a finger to cold was entirely within the realms of possibility though perhaps decidedly unlikely in his own situation. Sebastian's mention of just this seeing the Monarch turn once more to eye the vampire with an almost dubious look, that aforementioned 'sort of' bringing a simper to his lips all the same as he returned to that pile of snow he so busily gathered. It was curious perhaps, that even despite their shared gender, Dorian had so easily conceded in allowing Sebastian to play that more traditional role of protector within their relationship- at least in this situation. The Monarch entirely content to let the other man worry for the both of them. It was almost endearing in a fashion, a part of the Fae King so delighting in that ever studious care his lover afforded him if only for the knowledge he displayed such a thing purely because he desired to- not because he was duty bound as each being before him had been. Dorian was, in a sense, so unused to such care when it came so purely from affection and yet he could hardly say he disliked it all the same. The man so often striving to afford his lover much the same in return.

His own hands lifted upward then, eyeing that collection of snow in some effort to see those unique flakes his lover informed him existed, the silver of his gaze quite unable to pick apart those individual patterns- declaring as much to his consort but a moment later only to be told he required a tool of sorts. How marvellous this modern world to have developed something so useful as a Snowflake Finder! Inquisitiveness readily settling upon his features now at even the notion of such a thing before that grin tugs softly at his lips and his head nods in agreement to this proposal. Perhaps, were he able to see these supposed flakes, he might well be able to paint them. The Fae King already determined to attempt to create at least one snowy scene and yet how best to display white snow on a white canvas he had not yet discovered. The man so relishing even the prospect of this challenge all the same.

"Yes, I should like to this later."

Any ideas of the artistic notion however are evaporated entirely the moment he finds himself assaulted by that flying ball of snow colliding against his back and sending a shower of those fine, cold flakes against his head and a neck. Dorian near pivoting in place to eye the vampire with a sheer dumbfounded look as to just why on earth Sebastian had thrown something at him, such behaviour highly curious for his lover. Ah, but it was a game! It had been centuries, surely, since Dorian had attempted any sort of game. At least, any sort that did not occur between the sheets of his bed and was done merely for the simple and pure pleasure of playing. The Monarch slow perhaps, in so coming to understand the intent of his companion in that moment before he too reached for a handful of snow. He moves easily then to make his way back to the vampire, coming to stand beside Sebastian with the request the man show him how to craft that snow into a perfectly throw-able ball. Dorian taking every care to do just as the other man did. His own ball perhaps a little less rounded, a little less perfect and yet such a skill would surely come well with practice. The Monarch eyeing his finished snowball with some measure of delight all the same, the approval upon Sebastian's own features hardly missed before Dorian simply reaches to pluck that ball from his companion's hand. His own affinity rapidly seeing the man disappear from sight if only to give him that much needed edge over the vampire in this game he surely knew far better than Dorian himself.

How utterly bizarre it was to throw something at another. Dorian assured he would well be told off for it within his own kingdom. After all, hurling snow at another was surely a most unbecoming act for a King and yet here and now the Monarch hardly found he cared in the slightest. No small measure of satisfaction afflicting his features as the first of those snowballs collided with Sebastian's side. The vampires protest of fairness falling upon deaf ears as the Fae so unleashed a second to explode upon his lovers back and further soak that thin cotton shirt. His own chuckle falling readily from his lips as he returned to view, the vampire spinning to face him now, Dorian so attempting to distract him with those idle words before tossing yet another at the man's chest. Only to see the vampire dodge. Assuring him his words games would hardly work this time. A scowl of sorts settles readily upon his features, Dorian hurriedly attempting to make another, Sebastian far faster in this endeavour, the vampire completing that snowball well before Dorians own. His silver gaze glances upwards at those all-too teasing words that asked after Italy's concession in this. That playful simper still upon his face as his gaze flicked from his lover to that readied snowball and back again, Dorian assured the vampire intended to throw it regardless of his response, his arms folding abruptly across his chest.

"Italy does not! Besides, England wouldn't dare throw it at Italy because- hey!"

England, it seemed, was entirely inclined to throw it at Italy- that snowball colliding near perfectly with his chest, a fresh wave of snow flinging into his eyes and hair, leaving a wet mark upon his coat as Dorian moved to brush those flakes from his lashes and damp hair. A true and genuine laughter spilling from his lips all the same. His own half-made snowball tossed half-heartedly back at his lover, ready to concede Sebastian had clearly won, before Dorian moved to reach readily into his pocket, waving Sebastian over now, waiting until the vampire had come to his side.

"I should like to try something, I have practised this several times since you showed me how on that night of the Halloween. Come here."

He lifts one arm easily, draping it about Sebastian's neck to playfully pull the vampire closer before lifting that Letter Sender upward and holding it at arm's length from the both for no more than several seconds before turning the phone around to so display the screen to his lover with that newly taken picture displayed upon it. Sebastian looked entirely sodden, his own hair afflicted with snowflakes, his cheeks decidedly rosy from that cold and yet was a truly good picture all the same. Dorian grinning proudly at his efforts.

"You made me promise that night that I must keep a better picture of us then the one we so acquired at that carnival. Now I have a better picture."

He pauses but briefly once more, taping upon that screen a moment longer before that subtle sound from Sebastian's own pocket assured him he had been successful in this endeavour too. Dorian so having learned how to send pictures with some assistance from Samantha. The vampire now afforded his own copy of that captured moment, Dorian allowing one eye to lift in teasing satisfaction at the display of these skills he had acquired- and to think, he had once been delighted in something so simple as his ability to take off Sebastian's jeans without assistance!

"I think though, Mon Cher, we should go back inside. My hair is damp and I have managed to get snow down my shirt and it is quite cold and you, I fear, are entirely soaked."

Sebastian was, in fact, far colder to the touch then Dorian ever recalled his lover being. The cold air, the snow, his now damp form and indeed his lack of feeding over that extended period surely all adding to that coldness that seemed to afflict his form. The Fae King making no outward mention of it all the same if only for his knowledge of how Sebastian so detested to be cold- else to be reminded of it. The man assured there was any number of ways to heat the vampire up. It was easy then, to so catch his finger within the hem of his lovers damp shirt, tugging him softly against his own form now, lips pressing to Sebastian's bottom lip alone in a wholly teasing manner, tugging upon it but slightly between him own before pulling back. Ah, but how glorious he tasted!

"Do you know, Bastian? I think perhaps you might have to change your clothes entirely- you will get cold in that wet shirt. Indeed, I am assured I know of several ways in which we might warm up."

He leans forward easily once more, as if entirely intending to kiss the man properly, lips barely brushing the surface of his lovers own before he so abruptly turns his head to the side as if captivated by that grand house once more. A sigh parting his own lips. That mischievous look poorly concealed.

"Though surely you are tired of my ideas by now?"