In the grand, slightly too ostentatious office of the King of Spades, the desk had seen better days. Keane Beckett, otherwise known as The Titan, or simply Kea to a select few, had a particular fondness for paperwork. Not doing it, mind you, but rather using it as a makeshift mattress in moments of intense passion. This was one of those moments.

He couldn't help but chuckle, a rich, resonant sound that mingled with the sounds of their shared passion. "You know, my love," he murmured between heavy breaths, his voice husky and tinged with a playful smirk, "this wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I said we should discuss strategy." His hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white with tension, yet his eyes, oh, those deep, expressive brown eyes, were filled with nothing but warmth and unrestrained desire.

Keane leaned in closer, the scent of parchment and ink blending with the more primal, intoxicating scent of their bodies. "But I must admit," he continued, his tone softening to a whisper, "you're making it very hard to concentrate." The irony wasn't lost on him; here he was, the mighty Titan, brought to his knees by the very person who shared his throne. He reveled in the irony, found it thrilling even.

"Now, tell me, darling," Keane purred, leaning down to capture your gaze, "what's your next move?" His smile was wolfish, a blend of challenge and affection, as he awaited his lover's response. The king's heart raced with anticipation, not for the battles outside but for the delicious skirmish unfolding right here, in the sanctum of his own making.