sterngaze | open post

Yes.

[ The answer comes without hesitation, on the edge of a flash-quick smile. He does not bother elaborating, however. He would pretend that there's no point in bickering about it, but the petty part of him (which is most of him) simply doesn't feel like delving into the problem. Let Liem wonder.

He eyes the stacked coats. An odd gesture. Conciliatory?

He does not know the man he married well enough to tell. ]

What are my duties here?

[ In this family, he means, but he does not clarify that, either. His gaze flicks up to Liem's strangely dark one; he holds it there, as if aiming to pin his husband down. As if Cardan has that kind of power.

As if he has any kind of power at all, anymore.

If he did, he imagines he'd be knee-deep in wine and twice as merry for it. ]

Edited (words!!) 2022-11-07 12:41 (UTC)

[Liem looks at Cardan, at his little knife-sharp smile, for another moment after his answer, waiting to see if further illumination is forthcoming. Instead Cardan replies with another question, and Liem wonders if being wedded to him is always going to be like wading into a moat filled with stinging creatures. Finding out what might be in the castle on the other side promises to be a masochistic pursuit, and he's liable to have the door shut in his face for his trouble.

He almost answers, "To look good and keep me busy," but that would be unnecessarily cruel, regardless of how true it might be. He has no illusions about his father's vision for his marriage, but that doesn't mean he's accepted it wholesale. Also, he imagines that the remedy to having already offended his husband is not to try actively to offend him more.]

That remains to be seen.

[Iago suggested Cardan might shoulder some of Liem's duties since he (poor thing) often seems so overworked. Liem had countered that if he was suddenly splitting half of his work with someone else, he'd have plenty of time to attend more meetings (along with dear old dad). They'd argued. Nothing productive was decided.]

I imagine you have opinions on the matter. If there is something in particular you desire, you should say so.

[ Looking good had, in fact, been Cardan's primary occupation back home, so it's not like Liem would have been incorrect. Still, Liem's answer prompts a raised eyebrow. Is Cardan expected to prove himself? How novel.

He doesn't know what he desires. For so much of his life, he's shirked work at all cost. But he has some inkling that Liem probably expects him to be an ornamental lout... and that's annoying, too. ]

Perhaps I will.

[ ...once he figures out what his options are. He's certainly never paid attention to matters of household management.

And the general list of the things he desires is too long to enumerate. ]

But for now--

[ He reaches out a graceful hand -- as if offering Liem another dance, except this time Cardan's knuckles brush against a cool cheek. It's a tender gesture, incongruous with his bad mood and prickly commentary.

It's only because Liem is handsome, and because Cardan remembers too well the face he made after they'd kissed. ]

Show me to bed, husband.

[It's frustratingly accurate to say that Liem has almost no idea what Cardan might actually be good at. The things he's managed to learn about him since being informed of his betrothal could easily fit on a single scrap of paper, and half of those things would be items he's noted since after the prince arrived for the wedding. He has learned, for instance, that Cardan is an excellent dancer and that he knows how to keep personal irritations divorced from his public persona. He also kisses almost frighteningly well.

None of these are unimportant skills in the world of vampire politics, but Liem is a little concerned that if he gives Cardan more leverage to establish himself in vampire high society, he might be tying his own noose; a dangerous prospect, given how adept his husband seems to be at putting him off-balance.

Faeries may not be known for the same kind of predation as his own people, but he's not ignorant enough to believe them harmless, and the extent to which he doesn't understand Cardan makes him wary just as much as intrigued.

Nevertheless, he moves automatically at the electric contact of warm skin brushing his cheek, lifting his fingers to again take Cardan's hand with his own. He lowers his gaze briefly to their joined hands, hesitating for only a moment before he answers.]

Come with me.

[He leads Cardan further into the room, through another set of doors that seem to open of their own accord and into another wide and windowless chamber. Where the sitting room suggested dawn with its colours, this room evokes sunset, furnished in bruised autumn shades that cast the room into perpetual twilight. A spacious four poster bed beckons from directly across the room, and Liem crosses the plush carpet to its side, turning as he does so he's backing against it while he coaxes Cardan closer.

The fingers of his free hand brush the breast of Cardan's unbuttoned jacket; he glances up at him from beneath the fringe of his lashes.]

May I help you with these?

[ It’s not the reaction he expects. Something about Liem – perhaps the calm restraint he’s displayed, especially against the flamboyant backdrop of vampire and faerie alike – had led Cardan to think he would be reticent about touch, especially from a virtual stranger. He had thought he’d encounter obvious discomfort, or else flustered embarrassment. In some ways, he had counted on it.

He’s not entirely sure what to do with the thing he gets instead.

Lovely as the decor is, he barely notes it now, being otherwise preoccupied. Already they are by the bed, and Liem’s cool, elegant fingers are on his chest. Cardan thinks that perhaps he ought to smirk, to make a joke, to play it off as an easy thing– but the tension that coils in his belly betrays otherwise. He wonders if Liem notices the jump in his heartbeat. He had heard that vampires were adept at that kind of thing.

The faint scent of blood is still there. For the first time, he considers that between the two of them, he might be the prey. ]

…You may.

[ Quiet; the same way he spoke when they danced, except that there is no one to overhear them now. His hand slips out of Liem’s grasp so it can ghost up his side, fingertips skimming the fine fabric at his waistline. ]

After all, am I not your creature?

[ It ought to be a joke. But he doesn’t smile here, either, and the expression on his face is oddly intent. ]

[How strange it is to be with another man, close enough to hear the soft murmur of his breath and the drum-beat of his heart, and to be completely unable to smell anything about him resembling human flesh, human sweat, human blood. Even vampires have their own animal smell, strange and subtle though it is, but there is nothing of salt and iron about Cardan. After days of sleeping under a vampire’s roof, of eating his food and revelling in his halls and manicured gardens, he still smells like the forest.

It’s not a particularly appetizing scent, though it is an intriguing one. Liem has always liked the scent of the deep woods.

When Cardan slips free of his grip, when he consents, Liem’s hand skims up to join its twin, fingers poised to slide the jacket free of his shoulders. Something about the low murmur of Cardan’s voice and the feather-light brush of his fingers fascinates Liem’s attention—and he lets it. He lets himself yearn after that touch that is little more than a suggestion, lets himself lay aside everything that is not that quiet voice and those dark eyes, lets Cardan be just a man he has invited into his bed. His air of attentiveness does not subside, but rather gains—as he feels Cardan’s fingers wander—an edge of almost hungry interest.

In this room there is no status-flaunting revel, no political alliance. There is just him and Cardan and his fervent desire to have a single uncomplicated thing between them.

But when his husband speaks again, Liem’s hands go still in the act of easing that jacket free from him. His creature. He does not expect his husband to be his creature—to be his anything, really—and the unflinching way in which Cardan implies it unsettles him as abruptly as a slap. Liem’s eyes widen slightly. Something in him visibly withdraws, turns to stone.]

I would never dare to assume so.

[ For a breath and a half, he'd foolishly thought the night might turn around.

This time, Cardan does laugh. It is instinctive-- defensive, really, to meet rejection with cruelty, and what a rejection it is. Never has he seen someone become horrified at the prospect of fucking him.

His decisive step back takes him away from Liem's hands. It's the only thing he knows to do: to go on the offense, like a hissing alley cat backed into a corner. ]

Oh, fret not. Being sold off is but common fare for unwanted heirs.

[ He'll remove his own jacket; the heavy silk of it pools to the floor, spilling from his fingers. He wonders if Liem dislikes Cardan untidying his well-kept room. His presumably well-kept life.

Cardan hopes so. ]

Or are you too virtuous for such an arrangement?

[ Surely not. An ethical vampire would be a joke too rich even for Cardan's royal blood. ]

[Liem is expecting it when Cardan steps away from him, freeing himself from Liem’s touch; how could he not? What possible reason would he have to stay? He watches him let out a laugh that is neither nice nor joyful, and he wonders if Cardan might reconsider deciding to share his bed.

But no. That decision obviously hadn’t hinged on wanting Liem’s company, even to begin with. And evidently his reputation is more important than his displeasure.]

I think it’s clear enough that I’m not.

[Technically his father was the one who did the buying, but Liem’s hardly an uninvolved third party, now is he? Nevermind what he thinks of the whole thing; he went along with it in the end, so the rest is just semantics.

There is a basket tucked away in one corner of the room to receive worn laundry, but he isn’t looking at the heap of silk on his floor when Cardan slides his jacket free. He’s still looking at his husband, hands dropped now to his sides, the stricken look on his face resolving to cool-eyed resignation. He doesn’t have to guess now what he’s done to offend, at least this time, but neither does he have the energy to even begin to smooth things over. He’s just going to have to deal with it later, and hope that Cardan isn’t moved to try anything problematic in the meantime.

What a mess—and this time it’s one he’s made all by himself. Liem sighs and starts to rake a hand through his hair, before catching himself halfway and laying his hand on the carved contours of the bedpost instead.]

But what fretting I might do, I shall try to do unobtrusively, so as not to disturb your rest.

[ There is a version of this tale where they do not meet badly. Perhaps one where their exchange during the dance leads to a common understanding, rather than soft spots to jab at, later when Cardan remembers. There is even one -- the one he thought most likely -- where the quarrel culminates in feverish hands and the desperate rhythm of bodies against each other, where he presses his new husband into that plush mattress and pours his own rage and fear and desire into him, until none of the chill is left in his skin.

Cardan feels that last one linger, still, in the tension that runs up his spine.

In those tales, in those worlds, perhaps he would have been happy to be obedient. To keep his head down, to read and drink and be little more than arm candy -- what everyone wants him to be, he suspects. He'd thought that life desirable, not so long ago.

But this is no fairy tale.

His fingers find the buttons of his shirt, thumb them open one by one: a slow, inexorable revealing of skin. It may have been submissive on someone else. ]

I see.

[ Something moves at his waist... and then slips out silently from between layers of fabric. It is a thin, black tail, a lion's tuft at its end.

It coils against Cardan's leg, the tip twitching. ]

Never have I been insulted with such an excess of consideration.

[If Liem had quarrelled with anyone else, and was now watching that person aim such a quietly poisonous look at him while they disrobed for bed, he would have turned his head away long before now. He feels uneasy watching. It’s worse, he thinks, that Cardan holds so stubbornly onto his dignity, keeping it close even as he moves to methodically peel away his clothes, button by button, piece by piece. He would have preferred if Cardan insulted him, or shouted, or told him to fuck off and get out of his sight.

But instead he just looks at him, and he says, I see, and keeps taking off his clothes—and Liem knows he’s going to be stuck next to him all night without a single useful thing to say to him, and then tomorrow he’ll have to pretend that nothing is the matter at all but his father will still seem to know exactly what he’s thinking as usual, and either Cardan will be quietly plotting his vengeance or he won’t be, but regardless of which it is, that is still decidedly worse. It also doesn’t help that he’s starting to feel conspicuously overdressed, standing in his bedroom almost fully clothed while his husband strips spitefully in front of him.

Does it matter to Cardan, whether or not Liem meant to insult him? Probably not, he thinks. The end result is the same either way.]

I will make it up to you.

[His eyes dip to the sinuous curl of movement around Cardan’s leg, and he blinks to note the sudden appearance of a tail. That was not in plain sight before. He’s certain that he would have noticed it if it had been, but unsure what the significance of this discovery is.

His gaze climbs back to Cardan’s face, and he clarifies.]

To your satisfaction.

[ There is something to being watched. Even if Liem hates him (as he might) or thinks him a nuisance (as he must), he has not looked away yet. Cardan feels those blue and strangely piercing eyes on him, and there is a tension in that, too, a shiver that travels up his spine.

He thinks of Liem's waist beneath his hand; of the fold of his fingers against Cardan's own; of the scent of blood and the flutter in his belly at the thought of being prey; of how sometimes a thing just out of reach is more desirable than anything within it. The last of the buttons slips open, and this time Cardan steps forward, close.

Too close, but not touching. He will merely lean forward, one arm crossed over Liem's body so he can hold on to a bedpost for balance. He's taking off his boots.

And if that brings his mouth close to Liem's ear, well-- ]

Promises are much like threats, [ he'll murmur, ] cheaper to make than to fulfill.

[ In truth, the declaration had surprised him. But that's all the more reason not to trust it. ]

[Frustratingly, the fact that Liem has psyched himself out of having sex with Cardan does nothing to make him any less attractive, particularly as he continues the deliberate and unhurried process of undressing himself. He is, in fact, almost suspiciously slow about it, perhaps like he’s drawing the task out in order to make Liem regret his refusal. He’s already going to be lying awake half the day because of Cardan, so it’s not like he needed the extra help.

He doesn’t move when his husband leans close to brace against the bedpost—reminding Liem of an irritated cat, finding excuses to be near just so it can make its displeasure known. Cardan still smells bright and fascinating, the bare skin peeking out from his undone shirt invites tasting, and he moves in a lithe and supple way that makes Liem want to get his hands all over him; and yet he is still absolutely not going to do any of that, much to his own self-inflicted frustration.

His fingers tighten a little on the bedpost.]

People lose faith in you if you make a habit of not following through, [he observes, tilting his head to glance sideways at his husband.] It costs, in the long run.

[ It would be so easy, to do something about it. To close the distance, rifle his hands through short hair, smooth fingers underneath the elegant layers of those beautiful clothes. But even if his pride hadn't been stung, Cardan... cannot. He doesn't think Liem thinks him unattractive, but he also remembers too well that stricken, quiet look, just before things had gone off the rails so magnificently.

And wanting is not the same as yes. ]

My faith only buries you in obligations. To be honest, to keep your word, to protect me. [ For as long as you keep faith with me. He's quoting from Liem's own vows, from what seems like an eternity ago.

Cardan straightens up, letting his second boot slip from his fingers. The tail, ever with a mind of its own, brushes against the outside of Liem's thigh, feather-light. ]

Strange, to wish to retain such a burden.

[ And then he's stepping back so he can make his way around the bed, approaching the opposite side like nothing happened. Like they are just going to go to sleep, now.

But what else is there left to do? ]

[Cardan’s assessment makes Liem’s eyebrows twitch upwards, a moment’s amusement surprised over his expression like a flushed rabbit darting to shelter. It says something about his husband, he thinks, that he would see Liem’s vows in such a way—as if he wouldn’t have made every effort to uphold those promises regardless of whether he’d ever spoken them aloud. As if such a short and simple list of duties to his spouse might ever bury him.

Though in fairness, he doesn’t entirely know what he’s signed himself up for. If Cardan is someone who ends up routinely up to his pointed ears in danger, that could actually keep him busy.

Then that tail touches his leg, (his eyes flick down at it, unbidden,) and to his relief, Cardan moves away to circle round to the bed’s other side. Liem doesn’t sigh, but he does turn and lean his hips against the jewel-toned covers.

He doesn’t reply immediately. He’s too tired, for one thing; he leans down instead to pry the sharp little boots from his feet, and then divests himself of the faintly-shimmering layers of dark fabric making up his silhouette. For once, he lets the clothes crumple to the floor; it’s hardly unexpected after his wedding night, after all. Only once he’s flicking open the throat of his shirt does he finally say,]

Perhaps you’ve simply married a strange man.

[ It's Cardan's turn to watch. He sits on the bed, propped up on one arm, and his black eyes follow Liem's movements as carefully as a pupil watching a lesson. The tail flicks against the bed, still -- restless, or maybe pissed off. The reason for keeping it hidden might become obvious sooner rather than later: Cardan has a hard time keeping it still.

But that matters not, now; what does matter are Liem's fingers at his throat. Cardan is irrepressibly curious about what might lie beneath the layers of clothing and formality. Does he ever shed it? Or is he as reserved with the partners he does take to bed?

Perhaps Cardan won't get a chance to know. Still, his intense focus follows every button, every clasp, as if this, like their vows, is ceremony. To be remembered.

If he's aware that he's staring, he makes no effort to correct himself. Though Liem's answer will pull a huff of a laugh from him. ]

That, [ he admits, ] I knew from the moment I saw you.

[It’s a relief to shed the layers of prim, tailored clothes he’d donned for his wedding, even if Liem doesn’t strip down to the skin. He moves along the side of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt with practised idleness, his attention only half on his fingers. Even when he glances in Cardan’s direction he doesn’t seem overtly troubled by the intent look aimed his way, though he certainly notes it.

But when he laughs, and then speaks, Liem pauses with his shirt open down to his chest, his fingers halfway through undoing another button. He casts a sideways glance at Cardan, his brows knit in a frown of consternation.]

… That soon?

[He’d thought there might be at least… Well, what he thought doesn’t really matter. There’s little room for ambiguity in his groom’s admission, which, considering who and what he married, makes the statement hit that much harder.

But he takes what comfort he can in the knowledge that vampires are an idiosyncratic bunch, and probably all of them could be considered strange by some metric.]

[ Cardan did not expect this to be the statement that draws his new husband up short. Surely Liem is aware of how he comes off against a background of partygoers who drink, laugh, feed each other hallucinogenic powders, and have certainly started more than a few trysts within the rooms of the Talbott estate.

Not to mention the sort of chaos that has occurred without, under the moonlight and the bonfires lit by the Folk, who needn't care so much about the sun's ascent.

He raises an eyebrow at Liem's frown. But he doesn't mind talking about this, especially since it appears to discomfit the other man. ]

Your people seem not dissimilar to us Folk. We like spectacle, and pleasure, and trickery. After all, what's the point of an immortal life if not to wring from it every delight? But you...

[ He thinks of Liem speaking of his duties, of how all of the servants did in fact seem to know him. Of the precise way he dances, and of the careful wording of his vows.

Of how tired he looked, even on that first night. ]

I imagine you are anxious to get back to your work, and the mess you will have to clean up tomorrow.

[ It's a guess, and a somewhat tenuous one. But he figures that if he's wrong, Liem might take it as insult, and that is just as well. ]

[It’s not as though Liem thinks of himself as indistinguishable from the rest of the vampires who tend to frequent the Talbott estate; in some ways he considers it a point of pride not to be. He’s also aware that he has somewhat of a reputation as, like Cardan suggests, someone who devotes too much of his time to his work. But he had also been labouring, perhaps naively, under the assumption that it took longer than a single meeting for strangers to form that impression about him. He’s not certain whether he should be pleased to find out that isn’t he case.

He smiles a small, tired smile.]

I am perhaps not at my most carefree, at present.

[It’s not an untrue supposition, though even when he isn’t celebrating his own wedding, no one would ever describe Liem as particularly wild. He has never felt at ease at parties—in fairness, vampire parties are not risk-free events—and in the spirit of prudence there is a certain level of abandon that he simply will not adopt, even in his own house. Perhaps especially in his own house.

In contrast, Cardan seems perfectly capable of enjoying a revel, just like every other Faerie Liem has encountered over the past two nights. He has to imagine that if his new husband doesn’t already find him tiresome, it is only because he finds him frustrating instead. Perhaps he should start a new section in his calendar, to track how long it takes for his husband to become bored of him.]

But you are right; I expect to be busy tomorrow.

[He slides further into the bed’s sumptuous expanse and makes himself comfortable, as though sleep isn’t the furthest thing from his mind. At least, after the night’s surfeit of dancing, it’s a pleasure to be off his feet.]

[ Somehow, guessing correctly feels less satisfying than Cardan had imagined.

He'll follow Liem's example soon enough, turning so his back is to his husband. He suspects that sleep will not come to him easily: he's too agitated, too keenly aware of the other person in the bed. Fervently, he wishes Elowyn's last gift to him had not been temperance. Even so, it's not the worst night Cardan has ever had, and eventually he is lulled to sleep by the quiet and the darkness around him. It is eerily quiet, he'll realize over the next several nights; even though he knows Liem is in bed with him, Cardan never hears him breathing.

In the morning, the Faerie caravans will depart, and Cardan will start the thankless work of building himself a foothold. He is, in some ways, aided by the vampire court's unfamiliarity with him: here, he is just an exotic Faerie prince, not the sixth and unwanted child by a long-forgotten mistress, not the heir whom Eldred had banished from his own castle. Still, it is busy. He courts Iago and tries to charm the servants, learn the layout of the mansion, attend as many functions as is sensible. And when he has time left over, he devotes it solely to making Liem's life as difficult as possible.

All men have a pain point, and -- as they have established -- Liem's is his work. Cardan inserts himself into it as soon as he can. He shows up to meetings, reads through paperwork, tallies up ledgers, and occasionally even makes himself useful. It's instructive, in some ways: Cardan had never before considered what it takes to run an estate this large, let alone with servants who aren't glamoured. There is a sort of grudging respect that threatens to well up in him as he watches his husband pour over correspondence, his brow knit in concentration. Liem has a good face for serious work. There is an effortless elegance to his precision, his careful touch, the skill with which he solves complex logistical problems.

Cardan squashes the feeling down and continues on his campaign of harassment.

Working together provides plenty of opportunity. It's always innocuous: a hand on the small of Liem's back as Cardan reaches past him for a book; their hands touching while rifling through invoices; Cardan's breath brushing one pale ear as he leans past Liem to inspect a wallpaper sample. It is all part of his plan to-- do what, really? Aside from (he suspects) amusing Iago, this is not furthering his goals, and it is exhausting. But he remembers too well the brittle look in Liem's eyes, the tone of that I would never dare assume so. The sting to his pride remains fresh as ever.

He's doing it because he wishes to make Liem regret his answer.

This is also why this particular midnight, he is pretending that he doesn't know the bath is occupied. ]

Ah, [ he says, when several surprised faces greet his entry to the room, ] pardon me. Are you heading out tonight?

[ Of course he knows the answer. Liem -- and only Liem -- is invited to a banquet, and Cardan has a bee up his arse about it. Still, his smile is placid as he waves away the staff. ]

Let me tend to you, then. We have spent so little time outside of work, lately.

[ This much is true. It's also, likely, to Liem's preference, but what does Cardan care about those? ]

Edited (i can never remember it's actually night) 2022-11-14 05:49 (UTC)

[It takes a long time for Liem to sink into sleep, despite his death-like stillness, and despite the lulling rhythm of Cardan’s breaths and heartbeats just an outstretched arm away. (Well, perhaps a little more than that. It is not a small bed.) His thoughts are too full for sleep: full of his husband, of his wedding, of projections thrown into disarray and priorities that need revising. The sun is high in the sky before the thoughts chasing themselves in circles finally wear him out enough to let sleep take him—and then, soon enough, it is evening again, and he has work to do.

When, days later, Cardan starts taking an interest in assisting him with his work, Liem’s first thought is that Iago probably suggested it. He knows his husband has been trying to work his way into the duke’s favour, and certainly he finds the prospect of Cardan trying to keep him busy more likely than the possibility that he might actually want to provide his input on the estate’s party budget or how best to renovate the ageing east-wing trophy room. He had hoped, futilely, that Cardan would be content to busy himself with politicking, which could easily be a fulltime job by itself. At social functions he is like a falcon navigating the sky’s invisible currents, graceful and quick, and Liem offers up what tidbits of insight he can in the hopes of keeping that sharp gaze trained elsewhere. But his husband is not easily distracted.

So he incorporates Cardan’s assistance into his routines. He introduces him to Sir Gul Gusairne, the house seneschal: another vampire, and one who quite uniquely manages to make Liem look easygoing by dint of his exacting and utterly humourless manner. (This is one of the few instances in which Liem is genuinely pleased to have Cardan’s assistance; it’s clear from their interactions that Gusairne resents Liem immensely, and it’s always a relief if he can finagle his way out of dealing with him himself.) The actual managing of house staff falls to the seneschal, but it’s not altogether uncommon for servants to come to Liem with concerns rather than try their luck with Gusairne.

He spends at least as much time introducing Cardan to the ins and outs of his job as he does actually getting any work done, particularly as his husband seemingly delights in distracting him so just maintaining his train of thought becomes a challenge. To what end, he still isn’t certain; possibly Cardan just finds it amusing to watch Liem trip up mid-sentence because of the intimate proximity of his hands or his mouth. He wouldn’t rule it out. Perhaps he’s feeling out of sorts because despite sharing a bed every day since they were first married, he and his blood-drinking spouse still haven’t so much as seen each other naked.

But he still isn’t expecting it when Cardan strides into his bathroom (their bathroom) while he’s reclined against the tub’s edge, chest-deep in water, in the middle of readying himself to go out. Liem and the pair of servants attending him all give Cardan near-identical looks of surprise, just for a brief moment; by the time the servants are rising to leave them alone in the room, his expression one of mild incredulity—but he doesn’t object to their leaving. He also does not bother to sit up, seeing no point now.]

I didn’t realize you were so starved for my company, [he says once the doors have closed behind the departing servants. His tone says he doesn’t believe for a second that his husband really just wants to spend time with him.] Is there something on you need from me, before I leave?

[ Cardan didn't actually have much of a plan -- hence why he only brought a glass of wine with him, and not the entire bottle -- but that's fine. He's used to talking down reasonable objections, typically by declaring that he's a prince of Faerie and therefore ought to get his way.

That won't work here, but he's not concerned. ]

Suspicion looks charming on you.

[ Most of Liem's bewildered faces are. Or perhaps he's just come to associate them with the pleasurable thrill of invading Liem's bubble.

He'll approach that same bubble now, stepping towards the tub. Cardan is dressed for a rather relaxed evening -- barefoot, in dark trousers and a shirt with narrow cuffs. He'll set down the wine glass to roll up his sleeves. ]

I am bored, and I wish to attend my own husband's bath. Is that so unbelievable?

...but refuse me if you must, I suppose. Shall I call back the servants?

[ That would be embarrassing. Especially for Cardan.

He waits, eyebrows raised expectantly. ]

[One doesn’t manage to grow up in vampire high society without cultivating a healthy capacity for suspicion; Liem suspects this is not untrue of Cardan’s childhood experience as well, frankly. He watches his husband draw nearer, with his glass of wine and his bare feet and his untroubled expression, and he thinks that he should probably be a little ruffled by the blithe reception that Cardan gives to his wariness. Unfortunately, he finds it a little bit hot instead. But his taste in men has always been one of the few things about him that is not at all sensible.

He does find it unlikely that his husband really wants nothing more than to attend his bath himself. As Cardan already observed, he is not so credulous as to fail to note that his husband didn’t say that was the only reason he was here.

But it is also true that, regardless of the menace that Cardan has been making of himself, he would prefer to have a good relationship with his husband. He still intends to mend the bridge between them—or to build it, really. And he cannot do that while never giving Cardan the benefit of the doubt.]

No… you can stay if you like.

[Now he does sit up, leaning against the tub’s edge and regarding his husband as he rolls up his sleeves. When he considered the circumstances that might eventually lead to Cardan seeing him nude, this was not how he had imagined things going. Rather than dwell too much on that, he asks a question.]

What did you prefer to do with your time, before we were wed?

[ To (what he thinks is) his great credit, Cardan doesn't look as smug as he feels. Despite his apparent confidence, this had been a gamble -- there is nothing much stopping Liem from rejecting him. Cardan very well might have, had their roles been reversed.

Sometimes he wonders if Liem could truly be as upstanding as he appears.

...but surely such men exist in neither of their worlds. ]

Before we were wed I was almost entirely useless. [ He sounds fond of this time. ] But I have once drunk a troll under the table, which is a feat worth writing ballads about.

[ That's probably not the kind of vapid thing Liem was asking for, but what is Cardan to tell him? That he liked to read? Boring. The truth is that he had few hobbies that didn't involve reveling or being awful, and he doesn't think those would impress Liem, either.

He's going to grasp the edge of the tub and use it to brace himself as he leans over his spouse, cheerfully menacing about it. At the very least, the turn of events has cured him of some of his foul mood; he thinks this might be preferable to the banquet itself. And if he's distracted, for a moment, by the trail of water droplets traversing down Liem's chest, or if his gaze follows the expanse of wiry muscle beneath the water, well--

Perhaps it's been a long few weeks of half-touches and innuendo for Cardan, too.

But he reorients himself; his gaze finds Liem's. ]

Direct me as you will. Where shall I start?

[The look that Liem continues to level at Cardan doesn’t turn disappointed by the character of his reply, or frustrated at its vagueness. He just looks thoughtful. Cardan seems pleased enough, which to Liem indicates that either he truly preferred a life free of obligations, or he would like to pretend that he did. But he doubts that his husband would be forthright if he asked which it was—if being useless really made him happy.

Liem is not used to being menaced during his bath. He’s had the same attendants tending to him for years, and most of the time, at his own preference, the staff simply chat and gossip with each other while he relaxes and listens with half an ear. Sometimes he prefers quiet, and tells them as much. Either way, the process is comfortable and familiar, neither of which are words he would use to describe the sight of Cardan leaning over him, looking at him in a way none of his personal servants would ever dare consider.

He considers closing his eyes, but thinks that would probably be worse.]

With my hair, [he decides, because he’s curious, and because he’d been just about to have it washed when Cardan barged in. He leans back again, hands—bare except for his wedding ring—draped over the tub’s edges. He knows by now that Cardan prefers to bathe without any attendants at all—a strangely modest habit for a prince, he thinks—and he wonders how clever those wandering fingers are when sliding through wet hair. Probably, if he had to guess, quite clever indeed.]

Very well.

[ Cardan has entered the bathroom with the purpose of provocation... and he intends to be successful at this, still. However, not for the first time in these past few weeks, the uncomfortable possibility of getting more than he bargained for crosses his mind. It's not that his husband hasn't always been attractive -- hasn't cut a trim, well-attired figure. And it's not like Cardan had expected him to be clothed in the bath.

It's the keen, heady curl of desire that he had not anticipated feeling.

A shame that it does not matter.

He pulls an ornate little footstool close (he is definitely too tall to keep comfortably leaning over) and reaches for the jug set beside the tub. Cardan's fingers draw lazily up the back of Liem's neck, then press lightly against the base of his skull, urging him to tip his head forward so Cardan may pour warm water over his head. ]

And what did you do, Lord Liem, before your free time was taken up with herding me?

[ He means the "Lord" to be a joke, a poke at Liem's impeccable decorum. But he cannot deny it feels odd to call him by just his name -- like it's a type of closeness they have not earned. Most times, he has avoided it altogether.

...Having sufficiently moistened Liem, Cardan's hands will slide into his hair and busy themselves with working up a lather. He is not, in fact, bad at it -- he has had his hair washed by others, and he does his best to imitate the sure, steady pressure of massaging fingers, working in little tight circles from Liem's hairline to the base of his skull. ]

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