sterngaze | open post

[ 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. ]

[It doesn't make any proper sense to Liem when that first, lazy stroke of fingers up the back of his neck sends a flutter of heat down his spine. Cardan's touch isn't so unlike the sure and gentle attentions of Liem's attendants; the subtle press of fingers that coaxes his head forward isn't so different from the touch he might receive on any other day, any other bath. It should not really be so impossible to ignore, should not feel so electric.

And yet, it is, and it does. His touch is not a relaxing one; his eyes do sink closed when those long fingers slide into his hair, and he has to stop himself from letting out a murmur of pleasure as those tight little circles rub back along his scalp—but he is still thinking of the ease with which Cardan breezed in and waved away Liem's attendants, and he is still thinking of how it felt to accede to the wordless directive of his coaxing touch, and he is also thinking that if herding Cardan is what he's been doing, he has not been doing a very good job.]

Nothing worth writing ballads about, certainly.

[When was the last time he even had free time to fill as he pleased? He's sure that whatever he did the last time he had a moment's peace wasn't anything that his new husband would find particularly thrilling. But then, that was probably what Cardan was expecting when he bothered to ask.]

You may be unsurprised to hear that before we were wed, I also had very little in the way of free time. But it's possible I may have got more done.

[ This surprises a laugh out of Cardan -- more a huff of air than anything. ]

And I suppose you enjoyed that.

[ His tone doesn't express doubt so much as it does bemusement.

They haven't touched very much since that first night -- not like this, anyway. There are several strangers whose bodies Cardan could map far more thoroughly than Liem's. Now seems as good a time as ever to rectify this, and so he does: his fingers trace the contour of gently pointed ears, like those of half-Faerie children, then move to sweep Liem's hair back, tracing down to his neck, his collar bones, the graceful line of his shoulders--

He'll dip his hands in the bath, and then prompt Liem to tip his head forward again. ]

Close your eyes.

[ Cardan's going to rinse him. ]

[Even though Liem can tell that Cardan doesn't share his opinion on work, he allows himself a small smile in answer to his bemusement. He says, as if in mutual accord,]

Getting things done is one of life's pleasures.

[It's certainly much more agreeable than toiling endlessly and never getting anything done at all. In his opinion, free time earned from finishing work early is the most satisfying kind of time to fill, which is an outlook that he's aware is not common among vampires, nor probably among the fae. But in fairness, he chose his current lifestyle out of a sense of obligation more than any kind of personal preference.

Not that a sense of obligation is so common, either.

He's expecting it when Cardan's fingers wander, when they drift from his hair to slide along his ears and down his neck. He's expecting it, but his eyes still flutter open at the slick touch, and a shiver still travels his spine in the wake of those hands' feather-light journey down to his shoulders. It seems unwise to want Cardan's hands there, over his collarbones, his neck, where he always craves touch the most, but he's finding it increasingly difficult to give wisdom its proper weight under present circumstances.

He leans forward a little when Cardan coaxes his head to tip again, exposing more of the line of his shoulders and upper back. And his eyes sink closed once more.]

[ Though Cardan asks his bath to be filled with flower petals and fragrant oils, his actual routine is fairly rudimentary: he scrubs (with soap), washes his hair (also with soap), and then emerges from the bath looking and smelling largely the same as how he went in. Consequently, he lets Liem talk him through the intricacies of applying treatments and pomades to his hair, performing the steps as faithfully as he's able.

It's surprisingly enjoyable work. He doesn't remember another time when he's tended to anyone, at least not like this. Cardan had expected it to be fun -- teasing is usually fun -- but he wonders if he would have liked it even without an ulterior motive. There is something satisfying in the slide of his hands on Liem's skin, in the simple exchange of asking and having him comply. In the graceful line of his neck when he leans forward, soapy rivulets running down his back--

Perhaps it's the closest they can get to something like trust.

Once Cardan is done, he will rest his hands on Liem's shoulders, long fingers splayed. Though he's not still -- his thumb still moves, stroking slowly along the side of Liem's neck, languid enough to be subconscious.

But of course it isn't. For a moment, Cardan thought he'd seen something-- ]

And what shall I do next, my lord?

[ That's his best imitation of a faithful attendant. It is probably not very good. ]

[One of the benefits of having experienced staff attending Liem in the bath is that he never needs to tell them how to do their jobs, but to Cardan's surprising credit, he takes direction readily and well. He doesn't need to deviate much from his volunteered task to be distracting; Liem is too concerned with instructing him adequately to let his mind wander from what Cardan's hands are doing, and every time his fingers run just so over his scalp or brush against bath-warmed skin, Liem is intimately aware of it. He hasn't been touched by anyone besides his attendants since well before the wedding—at least, not like this—and the contact is making him intensely aware of that lack.

At least the sound of Cardan's question dredges him back to the surface, making Liem huff the short, dry suggestion of a laugh.]

Cardan, please don't call me that.

[Even in jest, he doesn't care to hear that kind of address from his own husband. In any case, whatever amusement Cardan might find in putting his hands on him, he can't imagine playing the part of house servant would honestly be an important part of the game.

But, since his hands are already poised so close to the right place, he may as well make them useful. Liem straightens unhurriedly, water running down his back as he glances back over his shoulder.]

But if you need direction, you can wash my back.

[ Cardan's eyebrows twitch upward. It is strange, to him, to see someone uncomfortable with power, even the pretend kind... but then, he supposes he shouldn't been surprised.

His husband seems stubbornly dedicated to pretending that their roles are equal. ]

So many lords and ladies would slaver over my subservience, and the one who has it sees fit only to reject me.

[ His tone reads as exaggerated, dramatic hurt... but it isn't untruth. He's certain there's many a court that would sacrifice much to leash a prince of Elfhame. ]

Very well. Tonight you'll have my obedience instead.

[ Which, in this case, means going back for more lather, then sliding slick fingers over the planes of Liem's back. Though Cardan has slim hands, they are possessed by a perhaps surprising strength: his touch is steady and firm, languidly tracing the spread of firm muscle under warmed skin.

Is it doing anything to get Liem particularly clean? He has no idea. But at least he's enjoying himself -- a little too much so, really. Even the heat of the bath cannot quite account for the jump in his pulse, the way something shivery and wanting snakes its way up his spine.

He's glad, momentarily, that Liem cannot see his face, because Cardan is certain that the way he's looking at him is a little too telling. ]

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