sterngaze | open post

[ 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. ]

[Though he’s turned away from Cardan, the roll of Liem’s eyes is audible in the light cadence of his words, which refuse that dramatic caricature of rejection. He can’t believe that his husband has any real desire to be subservient to him, no matter how much he evidently thinks Liem should want that.]

Please. Only a low-class vampire slavers.

[The pureblood lineages are all too obsessed with appearances not to cloak their savagery in finery and genteel traditions, even when there’s nobody at all around to fool. Even his own father would have kept his delight at his agreement with Elfhame hidden behind a show of diplomatic geniality.

As for Liem, the irony of Cardan’s feigned—he assumes—hurt is that if he didn’t want to be rejected, he shouldn’t have offered the only thing he possesses that Liem doesn’t desire.

In contrast, for example: the steady way that those elegant hands work over his back, and the way the quiet in the room only magnifies the musical thump-bump of Cardan’s pulse. Liem is very interested in both of these things, can’t help but be interested, even though he should be more concerned with getting ready for his outing. The truth is that his back does not really need to be washed just now, that in fact none of him really needs further attention now that his hair has already been seen to.

But for once he finds that Cardan has his hands on him—really, properly on him—at a time when he actually wants them to be there, and he is not in such a hurry that he cannot afford to explore this tempting circumstance for a bit longer. He draws a slow breath, one that smells of scented oils and soaps and that curious, ever-present smell of green things.]

You seem very eager to offer me things I’ve never asked you for. [Just as eager as he is to insert himself into Liem’s business in ways that only make his life more complicated. He asks, dryly,] Is that a Faerie custom?

[ Cardan has his own opinion about nobles of any type falling all over themselves for his attention -- that is, they should, because he's delightful -- but that's not really important. Instead he hums, thoughtfully, considering Liem's question.

Which is, admittedly, much more interesting. ]

Custom? No.

Rather, it is our nature.

[ To offer, to entice, to lure, to trick. Most people -- even stupid, greedy ones -- need an incentive to make bad deals, and bad deals are what Faerie runs on. He thinks of the humans working the palace fields and palace kitchens, the wet nurses and builders doing Elfhame's dirty, essential work.

All of them are there because of an offer they couldn't -- wouldn't -- say no to.

His touch traces down Liem's sides, over the neat dip of his waist-- and then lower, still, one hand slipping soundlessly into the water until his fingers splay over a slim hip. His other arm braces against the lip of the tub; in this position, he must lean over Liem, close enough that Cardan could stick his nose into the damp, pleasantly fragranced strands of his hair.

He has, evidently, given up on the pretense that he's doing anything other than exploring. ]

Perhaps I'd have an easier time if I knew what you wanted.

Edited (words) 2022-11-19 01:39 (UTC)

[Liem is to be commended, he thinks, for paying attention to Cardan's answer while his hands wander as they are. When he leans closer, touch gliding down Liem's waist to splay over his hip, his breath stills in his lungs and then draws in in one small, sudden inhale, carrying the Faerie prince's scent with it. He shifts toward that touch, face tipping to the side in search of Cardan's gaze.

Okay, so he's not paying a lot of attention. The subject is interesting, but it currently has some pretty steep competition.]

What I want is your cooperation, and your honesty.

[He sounds a little breathless as he says this, which is a good trick for someone who mostly doesn't need to breathe. But the dry expression he's wearing says that he expects Cardan was already well aware of these desires, and that he doesn't expect him to actually deliver either of them. Cooperation he might be lucky enough to earn on a temporary basis, he supposes. But although Cardan might be unable to lie, he doesn't hold out any hope of him ever being completely honest with him.

He almost adds that he'd like Cardan to stop toying with him… but that would actually be a lie. It is driving him a little crazy, granted, but he doesn't want him to stop—has wanted it less and less as the weeks have gone on. So instead, he reaches up and behind him with one pale hand to slide his fingers around the nape of Cardan's neck.]

Among other things. My wants aren't really such a mystery to you, are they?

If it was untruth, it could not pass my lips.

[ Though what passes his lips is rarely straightforward, including in this case.

He turns his face, like a cat leaning into affectionate touch, his mouth brushing the thin skin on the inside of Liem's wrist. It's strange, to not feel a pulse there -- as strange as the absence of breath on the other side of the bed when they sleep.

Liem appears to be doing both more and less of that now. It's a little surprising -- Cardan still knows little about vampire biology. More than that, though, he wants to hear more of it, of that breathless, distracted voice. Even though it feels like it ought to be him running out of air, given the heat rising in his own body, the way excitement spreads with the smallest touch of Liem's hand.

...he's going to pull away.

He's going to pull away, and then he's going to rise, stepping to the side of the tub in two long strides. His trousers are not nearly loose enough to hide his arousal, but then, why would he bother? If his erection hadn't made it obvious, the devouring way he's looking at Liem surely would have. ]

I'm impatient, [ he says, as if it's any explanation. There's something bright and focused in his eyes, a high flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears--

He's going to bend so he can kiss Liem, hard and a little desperate, much unlike the artful little show he'd put on for the guests at their wedding. And if he's already breathing much faster than he'd planned on, if his heart is thumping heavy in his chest, well--

It has been weeks.

And he's always been terrible at hiding desire. ]

[The answer Cardan gives is every bit as ambiguous and noncommittal as anything else Liem might expect from him, which suggests to him that his judgement of his husband continues to be spot on; Cardan is in no danger of offering Liem what he actually wants, regardless of how plain he is about his desires. This is comforting, if only because if he did actually start to act helpful then Liem would immediately have to become suspicious. By contrast, him being frustrating and inscrutable is at least becoming familiar.

When Cardan pulls away, the touch of his hand and his lips vanishing cruelly, Liem has a moment to think that maybe this is deliberate too—maybe he really did just interrupt his bath in order to distract him and nothing more. But Cardan circles the bath to look hungrily down at him, and he sees games are not the only thing on his mind.

Liem is not generally an impatient man; rather, he does not allow himself to be, to sabotage a future that might stretch many centuries for the sake of temporary concerns. But he feels impatient now, as Cardan's mouth crushes against his, hot with teased desire drawn taut over days and weeks of insubstantial, fleeting touches. He stretches up to meet him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his collar to keep him close, and thinks of nothing at all but the impatient want painted over his spouse's features and the way Cardan's hands on him had lit a fire beneath his skin.]

Cardan.

[He pulls back from his lips with a scrape of teeth and a murmur that is very nearly a purr, sinking inch-by-inch back into the heated water (though it does nothing to disguise his growing excitement). The hand at his collar pulls Cardan down with him, even as his other hand slides around his waist.

Join me, won't you?

[And, quite heedless of the mess it's going to cause, he tugs him on top of him, into the bath.]

[ Even had it not been for the unseen compulsion to his obedience, Cardan would not have resisted.

Maybe it's because this is what he'd wanted. Maybe it's the way his name sounds on Liem's measured tongue, or the thrill of having that exacting focus all to himself. Maybe it's none of those things at all. Either way, he only laughs as he's pulled in the bath-- delighted, a little breathless himself.

He hits water in a tangle of slippery limbs and fragrant heat. It sloshes out, splashing onto exquisite marble flooring -- more, still, when he reaches for the lip of the bath to steady himself. His grin is wolfish. ]

If you're planning on drowning me, this is a pleasant way to do it.

[ Cardan is going to kiss him again, before Liem has a chance to protest his honour or somesuch. He's going to kiss him, and he's going to press close, angling their hips against each other in a slide of delicious contact.

Somewhere in the commotion, his shirt has slid free of his waistband, and his tail taps against the wall of the tub, coiling sinuously in the water. ]

[Liem is careful when he pulls Cardan into the tub with him, the motion deliberate in its control, but he leaves no room for objections. In his opinion, Cardan ran out of room to object to a dunk in his bath at some point between chasing out his attendants and calling him my lord—and frankly, he isn't hearing any complaints. If anything, his husband looks delighted.

And he wears it well, his expression alight with sharp-edged lust, looking amused and intent and untrustworthy. The lithe press of his body against Liem's is a temptation and a delight; he looks up at him with veiled mischief, and perhaps a bit of satisfaction after spending so long tending to his duties instead of to his wants.

It's for the best that Cardan doesn't give him the opportunity to speak, since Liem certainly wouldn't have wanted to drown him before they were finished, and it's possible he would have said so. But instead his hand finds its way beneath Cardan's shirt to travel over his back, his other hand releasing its hold to splay over Cardan's chest, and a soft, hungry noise emerges from low in his throat as his hips grind up to chase the friction between them.]

[ The touch on Cardan's back surprises him into a shiver -- the scarred skin is always a little sensitive, a little more primed for touch both good and bad. It's almost as startling as the expression on Liem's face, because Cardan doesn't think he'd ever seen him look anything other than weary. Certainly not like this, not like he's having... fun.

It's strikingly attractive.

...but Liem's palm on his back also brings reality back into focus. Right-- he had a plan, before all this, before the pleasant ache of wanting and the intoxicating feeling of Liem against him pulled his attention astray. Even if the noise he makes pulses straight down to Cardan's cock. Even if there are so many things Cardan wants to do. He pulls back to press a lazy kiss to Liem's jaw, then lower, breath hot against his skin.

It would be so easy to just-- ]

Liem, [ he queries against a pale neck, his tone impressively calm for how heated he feels. ]

[Liem obviously hasn't gone the past few weeks without thinking about what it would be like to kiss Cardan again; what it would be like to surprise him during work (he still doesn't think of it as their work) by responding in kind when he so obviously assumed Liem would try his best to ignore him; what it would be like to cross the distance between them before sleep and offer to soothe his stung pride with his hands and his mouth. He's thought about it in fleeting, senseless fancies, entertained during quiet moments and discarded again.

But in those fancies Cardan did not shiver so intriguingly beneath his touch, and the scent of him was not so heady and immediate.

Liem's head tips gently at the lazy press of Cardan's lips against his jaw, another breath sighing out as those kisses travel down to his neck. He squirms his hips up again, seeking the length of Cardan's cock against him, and his fingers wander his back beneath his shirt, light and inquisitive and methodical, as the sound of his name makes Liem's eyes flutter open: curious; intent.]

Mm.

[He hums, fingers pausing their gentle exploration of Cardan's spine. The breath against his throat is very warm.]

Yes?

[ For a moment, he hovers on the knife's edge of decision. For a moment, he closes his eyes, breathing into the shivery, soft feeling -- a tenderness that feels strange in the space between them. It feels good. It feels nice. Liem's hands are careful; Cardan wonders if he's this gentle with all his lovers.

It's just a little distressing, right then.

The tail is the only real warning Liem gets: it lashes, just once, splashing water. But the tip is still twitching when Cardan pulls himself up, locks eyes with Liem, and says: ]

If you tarry any longer, you'll be late to your banquet.

[ ...It's technically true. By his estimation, he's fucked around long enough that Liem will be late to the banquet even if he doesn't tarry.

Speaking of drowning: he's going to move. More water splashes out as he pulls himself, slippery as a merrow, away from that unbearably gentle touch. And though he is still flushed, and still hard, Cardan's face is perfectly calm.

Except, maybe, for something flinty in his eyes. ]

Which is well, as I find myself in want of a bath.

[The tail's sudden motion is startling, but it's the expression on Cardan's face when he pulls back that makes Liem's eyes go wide. He stops halfway to sitting up himself, propped on one elbow as his eyes search Cardan's. What they find makes something low in his chest go chill and tight.

Ah. Right.

Realization strikes him like a slap to the face: He'd attributed Cardan's desire to toy with him to boredom, without accounting for his spite. But although his expression changes dramatically in the space of a few moments, it moves hardly at all. The attentive interest leeches from it, leaving his face still and brittle, pale but for the spots of colour settled high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His eyes are flat with unmistakable resentment.]

Excuse me.

[It comes out as a murmur with all the warmth and substance of deep space: the same tone he uses with his father when he's been humiliated beyond even his capacious ability to endure. He picks himself out of the bath, wrapping a towel around both his nakedness and his arousal. He does not look at Cardan, or speak again; he simply strides through the door, which opens well before he's reached it and slams behind him without so much as a gesture.

He is late for his banquet. There is the matter of his dampness and general disarray, which he insists on addressing to the best of his abilities before he is willing to call his attendants back. Liem departs looking harried and taut about the eyes; he is gone for most of the night and returns just an hour shy of dawn, but he does not return to his rooms. (Their rooms.)

He sequesters himself in his study instead, weary as ever—and he neither leaves nor admits any entry until long after the sun has passed its zenith and sunk back down, towards the horizon.]

[ It's not a pleasant sight, exactly: he can see tension replace warmth, distrust slam into places where they had gained some ground. But what does he want to gain ground for, when the sting of that first night still festers, unsoothed?

And anyway, Liem's anger is interesting. Some part of Cardan will always like this, will always feed on cruelty, as much as the vampires feed on blood.

Now they are merely closer to even.

Left alone, he peels off his wet clothes and finishes his bath (and his wank) without much hurry. He doesn't think of anything when he does it; he certainly doesn't think of his name on Liem's tongue or the strength of his arm around Cardan's waist.

When he slides between the sheets at the end of the night, he has not one shred of clothing on him.

Four hours later, he's still naked, and still awake. Though he'd like to tell himself that he doesn't care, Liem's absence disturbs him; in his focus on petty vengeance, Cardan has momentarily forgotten how fragile his station here -- or anywhere -- is. This is Liem's home much more than his; the servants like him; even Iago cannot possibly favour Cardan over his only son. There are too many ways in which his life could become difficult if Liem chose to make it so.

The thought is disquieting enough to chase him out of bed and into his clothes. It's early afternoon, and though a manor this size is never deserted, the rooms with windows feel eerily still. A smarter man would perhaps endeavour to find a solution to his problem, but what solution is there to his own nature?

The only thing left to him is distraction. Cardan ignores the servants as he wanders, finding his way to the wine cellar first. There, he doesn't bother flirting with moderation; when he leaves, it is with a full crate of bottles under his arm.

He's going down to the stables.

Cardan has arrived at the estate with some dowry; the two beautiful yet oddly-proportioned Faerie horses are part of that. They are not what he's come for, however -- it's the giant, well-furred moth that dozes in the shadowiest stall. Its feathery antennae twitch when he approaches. He'll set down the crate, uncork the first bottle, and pour it into the moth's trough.

This mollifies it enough to let him approach. He steps into the stall and lets himself sink down onto the hay, breathing in its familiar scent. It's not comforting, exactly -- he had never liked sleeping in the stables -- but it feels a little bit like home. The moth, as it turns out, is a decently agreeable drinking partner, and by the time they are out of wine, Cardan feels something closer to normal -- closer to not caring, anyway, as the familiar pleasant heaviness settles in his limbs.

He'll still be there once the moon rises: his head pillowed on the moth's furry throax as he sleeps, hair and shoulders lightly seasoned with the dust that coats its wings. ]

[Initially, as Liem shuts himself in his study in an effort to avoid his husband’s company, he tries to fill the pale morning hours with work. There is always something to be reviewed, plotted, tracked down, signed. He has enough of a backlog at hand that he could easily spend half a night in this manner; during the day, under present circumstances, he imagines he could keep himself busy until sundown.

But, perhaps unsurprisingly, concentration eludes him. Although he can keep Cardan out of his sight, he cannot keep him out of his thoughts, and he spends much of his time at his desk stewing in his own frustration. The wound to his pride will recover easily enough; for his kind, all wounds do. But he does not know how he’s meant to survive a marriage to someone he cannot trust with anything at all, and who makes him feel hopelessly foolish for even wanting that luxury. The thought of bringing politics and intrigue into his private life exhausts him, has always exhausted him, and he resents having what feels like the last of his peace robbed from him for the sake of his father’s interests. He certainly resents his father, and today he finds himself quite capable of resenting Cardan too.

It’s somehow worse that he still wants him, and that he knows that he’s probably not going to stop. Perhaps a different vampire might salvage some shred of self-respect by plotting his vengeance, by using his position to make Cardan miserable as a thank-you for his treatment, but Liem doesn’t want to make Cardan miserable; he wants Cardan to fuck him. He wants Cardan to fuck him, and the obvious fact that Cardan holds no regard for him at all isn’t making him want it any less.

But there is a limit to how long Liem can spend just feeling sorry for himself. For one thing, there are only so many hours in the day, and for another, he’s not going to solve any of his problems by brooding alone in the dark, vampire-appropriate an activity though that may be. He emerges sometime before dusk—far too late to catch any appreciable amount of sleep, but early enough at least get a head-start on the night. He cancels his earliest meetings, shuffling them all to after midnight (to Gusairne’s marked displeasure). And, having bought himself the freedom of the next several hours, he heads back to his rooms to make nice with his husband.

At which point, he finds that his husband is not there.

It is some time later when Liem comes looking for Cardan in the stables. He has un-rumpled somewhat; he’s wearing clean clothes, and he both looks and smells freshly shaven. But he is wearing last night’s hair and last night’s face, and when he stops at the entrance of Cardan’s stall, weariness lives in the look he gives to the crate’s worth of empty bottles sharing the space with his lightly-dusted spouse.

Like this, he looks a little less alien. He looks like a man who has pitted his cares against a prodigious amount of alcohol, and who has likely been felled in the crossfire.]

Cardan. [He doesn’t speak loudly just yet; he hasn’t known Cardan to be a particularly heavy sleeper.] Is our bed so inhospitable, that you’d rather sleep in the stables?

[ There is no immediate response; not from Cardan, anyway. But the moth stirs -- perhaps it's wary of the intruder, or simply restless. No stable groom has seen fit to disturb the prince's slumber, and so it has remained trapped in its stall for longer than usual.

The shifting of its wings disturbs Cardan in turn. He frowns and reaches up to wipe some of the dust from his face; it shimmers in the half-light. ]

Wretched creature, [ he'll sigh, without much bite-- a half-breath before realizing he's not alone. For a moment, his face is taken by unguarded surprise, and then his usual haughtiness shutters his eyes.

He hadn't expected Liem to come looking for him.

Despite his excesses, Cardan does not appear to be particularly inhibited -- whatever alcohol remains in him only takes the edge off of the discomfort of dealing with this now. A discomfort wholly of his own making, granted, but the problem with assigning guilt is that it doesn't make pain any easier.

Liem looks well, considering. Cardan cannot read his face. If he's still angry, Cardan wouldn't have any idea what to expect from it.

He supposes he should rise. ]

I imagine you spent your day in better company than I.

[ Hardly a stretch to assume Liem went out and fucked someone. Cardan would have, in his circumstance, and he well knows that vampire banquets are almost as randy as Faerie ones. ]

[Even after weeks of sharing a bed, it is still unusual for Liem to see Cardan wear his thoughts so honestly, at any hour of the day. He watches him stir and then recall himself. Notes the precise moment when Cardan realizes he is not alone.

It occurs to Liem that his is not the only peace that has been stolen for the sake of their union.]

Whoever you're imagining, I hope they have a good, wicked smile. [He remarks almost to himself, raising his eyebrows as if in surprise.] The kind that promises I'll wake up the evening after to discover it's next week. I'd hate to learn I was sleeping around for anything less.

[Technically, neither he nor Cardan promised not to fuck other people. He doubts his spouse would be offended if he had slept with someone after the banquet, and frankly he doesn't expect any more restraint from Cardan, at least not for personal reasons. He's just not especially keen on broadcasting their marital discord by seeking out other lovers less than a month after their wedding.

It would be better all around, he thinks, if he just spent his time trying to fix his marriage instead.]

Would you like to get out of the house? [he says, with no preamble at all. And also:] I cancelled our appointments.

[ Cardan is mid-stretch when Liem starts talking about wicked smiles and... Faerie trickery? It takes him a moment to process the sentiment; he blinks, thrown off guard for the second time in as many minutes, this time not bothering to hide his surprise.

It gets worse, somehow.

When Liem suggests they get out of the house, suspicion starts fomenting in the back of his head. By the time he tells Cardan he's cleared his (their?) calendar, he is absolutely certain this is a trap. Perhaps Liem and Gusairne have finally found common ground in their mutual hatred of Cardan, and the stodgy vampire is waiting around the corner with a clubbing stick -- by this point, nothing seems particularly unlikely to him.

But.

He's curious. ]

What did you have in mind, exactly?

[Liem almost smiles at the naked surprise his sentiment seems to have evoked in Cardan; clearly whatever he was expected to say in response to his assumption, it wasn't anything like that. He wonders if it's the sentiment that his husband finds surprising, or just hearing it come from Liem's mouth.

He'd rather not seem too flip, though. He didn't tramp down to the stables on no sleep just to amuse himself at his husband's expense, whatever Cardan might be expecting.

And, it occurs to him, he might be expecting just that. Best to be up front, then.]

Mostly I thought we might get away from everyone at the house, and enjoy some parts of the estate you haven't seen yet.

[He frowns, briefly, unhappily aware of the implications his suggestion might carry coming from somebody who is potentially very angry. But… no, surely Cardan isn't actually suspicious of him in that way. It would be catastrophically stupid to embarrass Liem the way he did if he thought there was a chance he might be dangerous, and whatever might be true of Cardan, he doesn't think him a stupid man.]

We could take a ride, or just walk the grounds if you prefer.

[He spreads his hands a little, fleetingly.]

You were right: we don't spend much time together outside of work. So—would you like to?

[ Every word Liem speaks is more unfathomable than the next. Cardan would have been less astounded if his husband had asked him to run away to a circus together. But if it's a trick, it is the clumsiest, most brazen trick in existence, and Cardan has not come to associate either of those terms with Liem. And besides--

It has been some time since Cardan's been outdoors -- properly, truly outdoors, not just going from building to ride and vice versa. His recent schedule of politicking-ledgers-harassment has hardly allowed for it; what little free time he has is spent sleeping or leering at Liem from his study's couch. And the part of Cardan that's nature, that's magic, is a little parched for the wild part of a forest: for looming trees and feathery ferns, for bird song and the din of insects labouring in the dark.

Yes.

Yes, he would like to.

The moth bumps against his hip, insistently, its wings attempting to spread in the confined space. Cardan looks down -- having forgotten where he was, for the novelty of being asked out on a walk -- and huffs out a soft chuckle. ]

...how would you like flying?

[ He'll look up at Liem; the half-smile that tugs at his mouth is oddly cautious. ]

My ornery pet would like to stretch its wings, I imagine.

[When Liem had suggested the idea of a ride, he had not been imagining that it would be on the back of a giant moth. As he glances at the furry creature looming restlessly behind Cardan, he trades some of the weariness in his expression for surprise, like he hadn’t realized the beast might be anything other than his husband’s drinking buddy and temporary pillow. Somehow it had not occurred to him that a trip on moth-back was an option, and now that the idea has been floated, he is… not at all sure how he would like it, actually.

He has never flown before, on anything.]

That would be… novel.

[Possibly exciting; possibly terrifying. He suspects he won’t know which until they’re in the air, which is a prospect that makes him a little nervous. But he had meant to leave the particulars up to Cardan’s preference, and he has just enough optimism left in him to hope that accompanying him on an outing like this might actually make his husband happy.

He smiles with a faint, playful wariness.]

Should I be concerned about its temper?

[ He thinks flying is one way to mitigate unexpected surprises, anyway. Not being on land means there are fewer land-based traps that anyone can spring, though more and more he's convinced that this isn't, in fact, what's on his husband's mind.

But more than that, more than protection--

To his own mild surprise, Cardan thinks he might enjoy showing Liem a little bit of Faerie. A little glimpse of magic, of something wild and strange and unconstrained. Maybe he's just being nostalgic for a home he was never really that happy in, but so be it. ]

Not nearly as much as about mine.

[ The moth doesn't have teeth, for one. And though it is large, it's also rather plush; even the white-and-grey wings look a little fuzzy.

Usually, he has to bribe it to do anything at all, but it seems like the day's excesses have mollified the creature. Cardan brushes past Liem to push open the stall gate -- carefully not thinking about the closeness of their bodies -- and the moth moves after him, somewhat impatiently. Once it has maneuvered its body out, it takes a moment to stretch its large wings.

If Liem was hoping to come out of this untouched by its glittery dust, he will find himself disappointed.

There are no reins, nor saddle. The elf merely climbs on the creature's back, and then holds out his hand, apparently intending to help Liem up. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject