sterngaze | open post

[ There is something strangely delicate to the clasp of their hands, to Liem's soft laugh. It feels like something that cannot be forced nor preserved, like a soap bubble that will pop the minute the wind blows too hard.

Cardan doesn't know why he's suddenly anxious about it. He's certainly determined not to let it show, though he can do nothing to slow his treacherous heartbeat. His tone remains light. ]

If you're gone, I may have real work pressed upon me, which is hardly in my nature.

[ But that's not a real reason. For one, no one in their right mind would expect Cardan to be dependable. ]

And I don't trust any of the others not to eat me.

[ That is closer to honesty, couched in irony as it is. ]

[Despite himself, Liem smiles at the reasons Cardan gives for why he might bother to dog him all the way out here. He suspects that the main reason would have less to do with a fear of work or even the other household vampires, and more with a suspicion of what Liem might get up to if he's allowed too much free time away from his spouse. Cardan's position has the potential to suffer significantly if his husband is allowed to shuffle him to the side and forget about him, so that might yet provide incentive to pop up when Liem isn't expecting him.

But he's still pleased by the implication that he is, at least by comparison, worthy of Cardan's trust.]

I'm flattered by your confidence in me.

[Once they are well beneath the oak's gnarled boughs, its massive limbs almost comforting in their near-omnipresence, Liem will let go of Cardan's hand—but only to dig into one of his coat pockets. There is something rather square inside that he had to avoid pressing into the elf's back earlier.]

If I'd known we'd be coming out here, I might have thought to bring refreshments. But in lieu of that, I do have something else for you.

[He withdraws a hinged wooden box, small enough to hold comfortably in one hand. And, trying to keep any inconvenient trace of hesitation from his face, he offers it to Cardan.]

[ Cardan considers mentioning that Liem's pronounced lack of interest in feeding on him is a little insulting, but-- perhaps that's too close to the truth. He has wondered about where his husband gets his needs met, and why he is so private about it. He's thought about asking, but what is the point when it's likely the answer will just irritate him further?

The moment passes, anyway, and then he's looking down at Liem's hand with plain surprise. For a second, Cardan's confused thoughts suggest that this is a -- proposal? like the ones he's read about in the mortal novels? -- but surely it cannot be. They've already had a wedding, and they have their rings.

Similarly alarming: the fact that Liem doesn't have much reason to be generous with Cardan at the moment.

...still, Cardan will not refuse him. He plucks the box from Liem's fingers gingerly, like he's not sure it won't bite him. Gifts are always fraught, for the fey: usually you get more than you bargained for. And in this set of circumstances--

He will open it very gently. ]

[Even after becoming wedded to a faerie man, and after making an effort to better understand the culture his spouse hails from, Liem is well aware that his knowledge of faerie customs surrounding gifts is woefully lacking. He knows that debts and promises have their own weight among the fey, and he knows that gifts and favours are to be repaid properly rather than with a simple thank you, but he does not fully understand the ginger way his husband takes the box from his fingers—and he feels like maybe he should.

But he is also occupied with the much more mundane and probably universal concern of hoping that Cardan is actually pleased by what he’s giving him, and although his expression remains patient, once he’s relinquished the box, he laces his fingers together to resist the urge to fidget nervously with his cuffs.

The box’s contents turns out not to be a ring, but a brooch. A large piece of polished amber forms the centrepiece, surrounded by shining, finely wrought leaves and enamelled wasps with jewelled wings. One more wasp lurks at the centre of the amber itself, creating the overall effect that the others are swarming around it.]

It took me some time to find something I was satisfied with, [he comments.] But you can consider this my wedding gift to you.

[ Cardan

stares.

He stares at the brooch, and then he looks up at Liem, and then he looks back to the brooch, to the delicate gemwork and the thoroughly faerie subject matter, and if he could manifest the words wedding gift in the air and stare at those, then he surely would have done so. ]

It's splendid.

[ It is. He touches it, fingertip caressing a filigreed edge. Of course it pleases him. How could it not? It's shocking that Liem should've guessed at his taste so well, though he supposes he is not exactly subtle in showing it.

But. ]

...I was not aware of such a tradition.

[ He says it as breezily as he is able -- though it still comes out more subdued than he'd like -- but it is a concern, and a pressing one. It is one thing not to repay a gift given freely, but to fail to give one when it is expected... ]

[Cardan’s obvious fascination with the brooch takes some of the tension out of Liem’s shoulders. He watches him examine it, seemingly unable to take his eyes from it, and feels better about the hours of footwork and the significant monetary investment involved in acquiring it. Splendid is just the sort of thought he’d hoped the piece might evoke.

Although Cardan does seem to have misunderstood something.]

It’s not a tradition, [he assures him.

He definitely would have had a gift ready by the day of the ceremony if that had been the case, rather than a few weeks late. But as this is really a gift of a more personal nature, he’d wanted to take the time necessary to acquire a gift that suited the man he’d ended up marrying. It was not difficult to determine that Cardan’s taste in adornments diverged from his own, but finding something of appropriate quality in an acceptably short amount of time—that had proved more challenging.]

I just wanted to give you something to… personally welcome you into my home. Especially since I managed so quickly [—pretty much immediately, actually—] to displease you.

[ Cardan’s eyes narrow a touch. Unbidden and unasked for, he recalls the words Liem spoke that very first night, right after everything went completely to shit the first time.

I will make it up to you. To your satisfaction.

He had taken them for an empty promise, the kind mortals (and vampires) ought to spend easily. After all, they cost them nothing, light and insubstantial as feathers, whereas every word out of Cardan’s mouth weighs him down with obligation. Why would anyone volunteer to take on such weight?

And yet, for the weeks that he’s known him, when has Liem not?

It’s become difficult to dismiss. Again and again, Liem has taken his pushing and responded with… patience. Not with the kind of glowering, barely-suppressed resentment Cardan is used to from his victims. Not with fear. Again and again, he has allowed Cardan to bring him discomfort, or difficulty, or distraction. To what end? He could not possibly stand to gain from such an involved deception. The idea exceeds even Cardan’s capacity for paranoia.

The image from last night flashes in his mind: the flushed cheeks, the shuttered expression. He hadn’t seen it before – not like that. It had filled him with the kind of sick excitement one feels at the moment just before falling. It seeps into him now, a shivery feeling, and he forces himself not to flinch away from it.

And then, this evening: I cancelled our appointments. Would you like to get out of the house?

Cardan takes a breath… and steps close, closer still. He has taken on whatever tension has left Liem’s shoulders into his own. ]

I do not understand, [ he says, and then stops– what? What doesn’t he understand? He frowns, frustrated, and starts again. ] I haven’t been kind to you. So why..?

[Liem would describe the look that touches Cardan’s face just then as wariness, maybe even outright suspicion—and in that moment he struggles not to succumb to sheer frustration at the challenge that his husband makes of trying to know him. He’d seemed so full of sharp little edges on their wedding night, so ready to bristle whenever Liem wasn’t quite what he’d wanted—which seemed to be most of the time. He still doesn’t even really know why.

Liem had thought he’d wanted to be appeased, and in the face of his confusion and disbelief, it’s difficult not to finally feel a little insulted at the continued refusal to give him even a single ounce of credit. Even though he has been nothing but up-front with Cardan since the night they were wed. Even though he’s accommodated him at every opportunity. Even though he came out here with him specifically to make peace with him.

The tentative ease of a moment before flees entirely when Cardan steps closer. Liem’s spine tightens like a compressed spring.]

We will remain wedded whether you are kind or not.

[His fingers have escaped their mutual clasp, and reflexively twitch the edges of his cuffs infinitesimally straighter. Why would Cardan be kind to a husband he felt had wronged him, enough to so consistently deserve his ire? And why would Liem expect such a thing? Cardan is not indiscriminately cruel; he is charming with Iago, and with the house servants. What frustration and hurt Liem has received from him, he’s surely earned.]

And I do not wish to spend our marriage waging a war against you.

[ It feels like they’re speaking different languages even while using the same words. If he thinks back on it, he realizes that it’s always felt a little like that.

Only now he thinks that he sees it, faintly, blink-and-miss-it like the edge of truth peeking through glamour. He still doesn’t truly understand, but he thinks – his eyes scanning Liem’s face, searching for something – that he sees the shape of something he didn't, before. Is it duty? Is he only committed to upholding his honor by obeying his father’s orders, no matter how difficult?

We do not have to remain wedded, he wants to say, and then doesn’t, because despite everything, he doesn’t want Liem to dissolve their vows and doesn’t think he would, anyway. In Faerie, it would have been a magnanimous offer, releasing Liem from further obligation to him. Here and now, he suspects it will only come off as another pointless rejection.

He closes the box with the brooch, quietly. ]

…I was unhappy long before I joined your household.

[ It’s a terse confession. His gaze slides off of Liem’s face, watching the boughs of the tree behind him, instead.

But if they have any chance of not talking past each other, perhaps it starts with giving Liem a dictionary. ]

Heading into a pit of vipers, I thought it would be best to be as venomous as possible. [ His mouth twists, briefly, in a humorless little smile. ] Not that I find this particularly difficult.

[ The next bit will be, however. He wrenches his eyes back to Liem’s; everything in him screams that this is a mistake.

But it would hardly be the first time. ]

I have been unfair.

I am sorry.

[ The words feel monstrously awkward in his mouth, like sand grains inside an oyster shell. ]

Edited 2022-11-24 19:40 (UTC)

[Liem blinks.

He blinks, and then he stares at Cardan, brows furrowing very slightly, very slowly, as he listens to him speak.

What he is saying sounds like an apology. It has the ring of explanation he has heard from his father many times, after he’s offended Liem’s sensibilities for the sake of his own convenience—though without the undercurrent of blame such explanations tend to feature. More perplexingly, he cannot fathom why Cardan would be apologizing to him, now, when he has already made it clear that he doesn’t wish to pursue a grudge against him regardless.

He cannot possibly have made Cardan feel guilty. And yet, Cardan also cannot lie.

There must be an angle here, somewhere. But he cannot find it.

And that is making him nervous.]

I don’t think venom is unwarranted here, [he says, slowly.]

I was not a joyful groom, and have not been entirely welcoming to you.

[ Cardan waits for Liem's reaction the way one would for a blow: with perfect stillness, his breathing even in a way that suggests he's forcing it to be so.

...Then Liem does respond, and his expression is replaced with something like horror-- right before he looks away, his iron grip over his body language faltering. The flood of heat in his face is unexpected and immediate. He doesn't know what he expected, but already he regrets all of the embarrassing, unpleasant choices he made to get here.

Princes don't admit they're wrong. They certainly don't apologize, and he understands why. It's humiliating. ]

I am not, [ he bites out, tightly, ] going to debate my apology with you.

[ He sounds appalled by the idea, like it's a new kind of torture he hadn't quite considered imagining.

His hand comes up to cover his mouth -- a futile attempt at hiding the extent of his fluster. ]

Accept it or reject it, but do not expect me to haggle.

Edited (word) 2022-11-25 13:54 (UTC)

[Cardan’s stricken look hits Liem all at once, like a roof’s worth of heavy snow sloughing onto an unwary passerby. No response he could have offered could have been more shocking than the suddenness with which he turns away, offering that taut, dismayed reply to the woods—and then, even more inconceivably, through his fingers.

No turn of events would ever have led Liem to expect the man he married, who has slept in his bed and dwelled in his home for the past few weeks, who laughed in his face when Liem stung his pride on the night of their wedding, to ever look so abjectly humiliated. It is simply beyond belief that he would commit himself to a ploy such as this, for any reason.

Liem is aghast.]

No, I’m sorry—that was clumsy of me.

[His fingers clench restlessly at his sides as he stares at his husband. He had simply never considered even the remote possibility that Cardan might truly apologize to him, for anything.]

I meant to say that I was not expecting you to apologize; that’s not why I came here with you. But…

[He pauses, navigating awkwardly around the waiting landmine of thank you.]

I do appreciate it, and I will accept it. I have not often understood you well, Cardan—but I would like to. Your honesty has value to me.

[ The irony of Liem's apologizing -- immediately and with far less struggle than Cardan -- does not escape him. Ordinarily he would take it as a sign of the difference in their stations, but currently he just feels like a child being soothed out of a tantrum.

Mortifying.

Still; he cannot deny a measure of relief when Liem accepts. Even if he's just humoring Cardan, it is better than the alternative. He had meant it when he'd said that Liem was free to reject him, but-- he hadn't had a plan for the eventuality.

Nonetheless, it is difficult to be gracious about it. In the end, all he manages is a nod, and a terse, ] Very well.

[ A beat. He closes his eyes and tries to regain some of the perspective lost in his embarrassment. ]

...I am going to sit on the hillside until I regain my normal colour.

[ That, at least, sounds less strained, though it's followed immediately by his stalking off. It is not Cardan's most dignified escape, nor his most skillful, but he does not think he can face Liem again before restoring some of his equilibrium. And what other option is there? They still need to return together. ]

[After he’s accepted Cardan’s apology, there’s really nothing Liem can say. Cardan quite plainly wishes to be left alone, and besides that, there is nothing Liem could tell him that would make this moment less awkward for either of them. He could probably cram his foot further into his mouth if he was determined to try, but that’s an eventuality he’d really rather avoid.

So he watches his husband stalk away in search of his lost dignity, which doesn’t really feel like success, even if he doesn’t think Cardan is currently angry with him. He hadn’t dared to think too hard about what he actually expected to happen when he presented Cardan’s gift to him, but his hopes had been more to the tune of his husband magnanimously agreeing to put his trespass behind them. Causing him to feel remorse had not been on his list of possibilities.

It occurs to him that he may have been devoting too much time thinking of Cardan as a faerie and a prince, and not enough time thinking of him as a young man. But then, he’d been trying to avoid that last one—just like he’s now trying to avoid thinking of the fact that Cardan apologized to him, despite obviously hating every moment of it, for no other reason Liem can discern other than because he felt he owed it to him.

If he spends too much time examining either, he might end up wanting things from Cardan that he has no reasonable right to expect from him—and that probably wouldn’t end well for either of them, but certainly not for Liem.

With nothing else to do, he turns his gaze from the back of his husband’s head and he steps to the oak’s trunk, putting one hand on its rough brown surface. It feels just as it always has: insensate in the face of his petty animal concerns. He sits down beside it, resting his back against the comfortingly indifferent bulk of it.

And he waits.]

[ It feels like an eternity passes before his pulse slows, and the warmth recedes from his face. Cardan tries first to think of nothing, but this only brings forth looming and uncomfortable thoughts of Liem, which does the opposite of helping. So he focuses on the breeze in his hair, on the scent of flowers and the cool, solid earth beneath-- and eventually, on the delicate weight of the box still in his hand. He traces its edges with his fingertips, wondering what it will feel like to put on the brooch inside, after this night's many thrills.

He studiously refuses to wonder if Liem regrets his gift.

Eventually, finally, he'll feel like he's reclaimed most of his composure. He glances up at the moon, but it's still early, somehow, despite what feels like hours and lifetimes since they've left the stables. Cardan will consider his next steps for a moment.

Then he leans back, bracing himself on an arm. The little box is still perched in the careful setting of his fingers, but he's looking at the sky. ]

Come here, won't you?

[ He doesn't raise his voice very much, but then he hasn't gone that far. And it gives Liem the option of pretending he didn't hear if he doesn't want to, Cardan supposes.

At least his tone is back to its usual nonchalant self. ]

[Liem ends up doing much the same as Cardan. Often when he visits this place Liem brings along something to read—essays, or poetry, or a historical treatise, for the hour or so he manages to steal here for himself. Tonight, of course, he has no book, and so he falls back to even older habits. He sits very still against the tree, and he listens—for the whine of night insects, the calls of distant frogs, the chittering of bats. He tries to pinpoint the closest rustle that might herald a foraging mouse, and guess which way it might bolt if he were to pounce for it.

He hasn’t done that in years, of course; it’s a boyish occupation. But it’s diverting to consider, and it keeps his mind from wandering to where Cardan is sitting not far down the hill, and wondering if he could really be as pleased with his gift as he appeared, and if he’ll be thinking of Liem when he wears it.

It also keeps him from wondering what a prince of Faerie might have to be unhappy about, which he imagines Cardan might not like him contemplating at just this moment.

He tilts his head when he hears Cardan speak again, tipping it so he can look across the clearing at him. Seeing him seated with every appearance of placidness in his spot on the hillside, Liem regains his feet and brushes his clothes into relative tidiness. There’s nothing he can do about the moth dust that is still clinging to him—he suspects it’ll take a couple washes before every speck of it is gone—but once the stray bits of dirt and plant matter are taken care of, he pads over to Cardan’s side and crouches easily beside him.]

What can I do for you?

[ As so many times before, Cardan plans to take refuge in shamelessness. Though when he looks up at Liem, his thoughts stutter for a moment. Ah--

He's reminded, suddenly and vividly, of the fact that his husband remains annoyingly handsome, that the glittery dust gives him a manner of whimsical charm, and that Cardan hasn't done anything but fuck around -- except without the fucking -- for several weeks now. The flash of realization isn't new, but it is particularly bothersome combined with the memory of Liem in the bath.

What Cardan wants to do is hook his fingers beneath Liem's collar and pull him close, see if it will send him off-balance and out of that perfect predator's grace. But he's a little wary of starting a fight so close to the previous one, so what he does instead is lay his hand atop Liem's knee. ]

Lend me your lap.

[ For a pillow, he means but doesn't specify. ]

And tell me about your stars.

[Liem, who remains oblivious to his own annoying handsomeness but decidedly not oblivious to Cardan's, flicks his eyes down when that slender hand lands on his knee. It is not one of the more salacious places Cardan has let his hands roam, but the touch (warm), and the look (unblushing), and the request (intriguing) immediately make Liem's mind go in an improbable direction. He blinks, glances back at Cardan's face, and is already sitting down next to him before his brain has caught up with his limbs.

It is only once he has done this, and is stretched out on the grass, leaning lightly back on his arms, that it first occurs to him to look up.]

My stars?

[He had not thought to wonder before now if Faerie's sky differed from the one that currently hung above them—but he tries now to look at it as if it were new and unfamiliar, instead of the tapestry he'd looked up at almost every night since he was small. After a brief moment, he looks back at Cardan.]

What do you wish to know about them?

[ Satisfied with Liem's easy acquiescence, Cardan flops down himself, pillowing his head on his husband's thighs. It's a practical consideration -- this is the most comfortable position to view the night sky from -- but he would be lying if he said that he hadn't invented the reason for it in the first place.

And he cannot. So.

The answer to Liem's question comes without hesitation. ]

Show me the constellation you learned first as a child.

...Or the one that's trickiest to spot in the night sky.

[ Stars shape the world, or at least they do in Elfhame. Cardan has no designs on being an astrologer -- having never had much affection for the art -- but he thinks he would like hearing Liem's measured voice explain something that isn't fit standards for valet uniforms.

It would be nicer if he were to pet Cardan's hair while doing so, but he's going to stay cautious in his aspirations. ]

[Cardan laying his head in Liem’s lap is less exciting than some other things that could have happened as a result of his request, but it’s the one that Liem is probably better equipped to handle right now, given his slightly sleep deprived state. Regardless, Liem cycles through surprise and swiftly on to a budding, tentative delight at having his lap used as a pillow, which is something he has never experienced before. It strikes him as unexpectedly intimate, which immediately seems a little absurd given that they share a bed every day. But then, Cardan never uses any part of him as a pillow when they’re in bed.

Somehow he manages to keep his wandering thoughts from running off with his expression. At Cardan’s direction, he returns his attention to the sky.]

Very well. Let’s see…

[There’s a pause before he begins in earnest, as he scans the stars above and picks out the familiar shapes in it. After a moment, he starts speaking again.]

The first constellation I learned would have been the Pyre. Right now it’s hidden behind the tree, but you’ll be able to see it when we return home. The Pyre is quite bright, and its tip is our pole star, so it’s never hard to find.

[This is an area where Liem has had little formal instruction. He has to take his time as he talks, calling up things he learned from departed family members or the pages of old books.]

If you look at the moon, right now, and then about halfway between it and the trees, you’ll see five stars in a rough line, which we call the River. On the side of the River that’s closer to the moon are seven paler stars called the Dew Drops, and those are the hardest to pick out that I know of.

[He seems willing to continue for as long as Cardan wants him to, pointing out the Pack and the Threshold and the Cup and the Patriarch among others, though after long enough his knowledge will eventually begin to fail him. But it’s pleasing to tell Cardan things of no particular import, just because Cardan wants to know them and they have nothing more pressing with which to fill their time.

And it’s also pleasing to run his fingertips through Cardan’s hair as he does, which Liem will eventually hazard after he’s become comfortably ensconced in their activity—because it looks very soft, and because despite their close association for the past few weeks, Liem has touched Cardan even less than Cardan has touched him. He has, in fact, hardly touched anyone at all since they were wed, for any reason, and has been going a little insane about it.

So he pets Cardan’s hair, as he tells him about his stars, to the extent that he can.]

[ Cardan tries to imagine Liem as a child learning about the Pyre, and inevitably can only think of him the way he is now: serious and thorough, dressed in a tiny suit with tiny cuff links, perhaps already holding papers. Then he tries to imagine such a child dealing with Iago, and feels a prick of sympathy that no one asked him for.

Thankfully, he's distracted almost immediately by Liem's explanation. He lets that patient, even voice lead him through the stars, occasionally reaching up to follow along the path of an imaginary line as Liem describes it. The touch in his hair is a pleasantly shivery surprise, after all; Liem may feel him sigh and lean into it, his eyes half-closed, like a cat settling into being pet. And when, eventually, his questions thin out and Liem's answers trail off, he lets the silence creep in.

It's not uncomfortable.

It's probably the most content he's felt since he's arrived in this household. He's tempted to let that be it, to sit in companionable silence until Liem remembered that he had appointments to tend to, and Cardan would pull himself up and they would trudge back to the moth and fly back home.

He could just let it happen that way. But--

He will reach up, anyway, and touch light fingertips to Liem's jaw. Cardan traces the line of it down to his chin, then up the other side, over the point of his ear -- softer than Cardan's own -- down the slant of a cheekbone and over the curve of his mouth. Slow, considered, like learning yet another constellation under Liem's steady instruction.

Except that there is no guide, this time, only Cardan's own measured breaths and the carefully even look on his face. ]

[Liem doesn't know what to do with the easy, comfortable feeling that settles between the two of them as they rest there on the hillside, watching the sky. He cannot remember a time when being with Cardan has ever felt this uncomplicated, not since the very first moment he arrived at the estate for the wedding celebrations, and he cannot help but mistrust it—though for different reasons now than he would have had before. It seems impossible to him that the peace could last, and his awareness of its impermanence makes anxiety prickle at the very back of his mind.

He has long had a special talent for being uneasy with easy things.

Although his fingers continue to idle through Cardan's hair, his gaze can't linger on him for long without having to return to the stars. He seems to have gained a shyness about meeting his eyes, having lost whatever armour his certainty about Cardan's disdain for him had lent him. It's harder, with his husband's head pillowed on his thighs, looking alarmingly content to be there, to be satisfied with their indifferent union, with its business-deal vows and its loveless marriage bed.

And it's impossible to keep his eyes from his husband when his fingers alight without warning on his face, and wander it with such deliberate care. Liem finds his gaze drawn back to linger intently on Cardan's, hardly daring to move as fingertips trace his jaw, his ear, his cheek, his lips.

He's done much the same, when he's alone and the sun is risen outside, and he's trying to imagine the face he might see if he were to meet his reflection in the mirror. It's almost a meditative exercise; quieting, if a little wistful. But the feeling he gets when he meets that measured, even look isn't quieting at all.

He says in soft, light tones, ones not meant to be taken too seriously:]

Am I a pleasing diversion, Cardan?

[ Cardan's smile flashes white in the darkness. ]

The stars were the diversion.

[ And this time he does hook two fingers in Liem's collar, and does pull him down, so that Cardan only need to sit up halfway to kiss that serious mouth. Liem feels cool against his own heated skin, and Cardan lets that ground him, lets it temper his own savage impatience to something gentler and sweeter, more question than demand.

It's been a little lonely.

When was the last time he's gone so long without touch? At least a decade, surely, and be that as seconds in the span of an immortal life, he nonetheless feels the absence. Imagining the rest of that immortal life -- or at least a significant portion of it -- whiled away with naught but meaningful glances and suggestive brushes of his hand at the small of Liem's back is... unbearable.

Imagining one more month of that is unbearable. And stupid, because Liem was right: Cardan knows what he wants, too. What point is there in denying them both? ]

[Cardan flashes him that moon-bright smile, a smile that strikes Liem as more dangerous than any of the poised, sharp-edged ones he's levelled at him previously, and his heart gives a single, hard thump in his chest. Fingers snake into his collar to tug him closer; surprise flickers in Liem's eyes before he simply bends, compliant, as Cardan leans up to meet him.

But there is more patience underpinning that questioning kiss than he expects. And it is longing, rather than compliance, that makes him slide his arm around Cardan's back, just below the line of his shoulders, so he can linger, indulgently, with his answer.

Since the night they were married, Cardan has wasted not a single opportunity in making sure that he is always on Liem's mind. Liem has had no peace from him, found no solace—not in work, nor in leisure, not at social functions, nor in the privacy of his own bathroom. He has been nigh-unable to escape him for weeks, and in that entire time, excluding the night of their wedding, Cardan has kissed him on exactly one occasion—and even that had been cut cruelly short.

He cannot remember ever wanting to be kissed so much, for so frustratingly long. Cardan does not need to demand anything from him; all he needs to do is offer what Liem still, even after last night—especially after last night—doesn't have it in him to resist.]

[ It's something like relief. Liem indulges him, kisses him back, and Cardan cannot help the warm satisfaction that curls within him, though it is being outpaced rapidly by keen, sharp want. Cardan still half-expects to have his own trick pulled on him, to be rejected just before the moment of satisfaction; it would be a faerie thing to do, the story-like repetition irresistible for many of his kind. But Liem is unlike any Folk he knows, and Cardan finds himself a little tired of mistrust.

Loath as he is to abandon the -- novel, charming -- feeling of being held up, he's still going to sit up. This requires him to stop kissing Liem, which is a shame, and also means Cardan must twist a little awkwardly to face him. But it also means he can cup Liem's face in his hand and look at him, bathed in moonlight and frustratingly handsome for it.

Cardan likes that, too. ]

You asked me, once, whether people often hate it when I kiss them. [ He remembers it, because he hadn't expected Liem to be clever. He recalls also his own flash of annoyance, and what his revenge had looked like.

The lazy grin curling on Cardan's face assumes that they are both in on the joke. ]

Since I don't intend on kissing anyone else, I suppose it's your good opinion I ought to court.

[ Which is to say that he will do it again, and again after that. Time feels endless here; why shouldn't they tarry a bit, after such a long wait? ]

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