sterngaze | open post

[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? ]

[The kiss that Liem gives Cardan feels like it has been a long time in coming. Behind it lies all of his want and loneliness and frustration, his bruised longing and the sheathed edge of his impatience, and he has not nearly been satisfied when Cardan stops kissing him so that he can finally sit up.

But he is mollified some by the warmth of Cardan’s hand cupping his face, and the view of him grinning at him, with his raven’s-wing hair still tousled from the idle attention of Liem’s fingers.]

Then you haven’t kissed me nearly as much as you should, [he says, with a hint of dry accusation masking his surprise. That Cardan would intend on kissing no one else but him is news to Liem, and he finds it especially surprising given how determined his husband had seemed to be to light aflame the paltry scraps of rapport they’d managed to scrape together. He would not have guessed those to be the actions of a man who cared about kissing his husband any time in the near future, nor about winning his esteem.

When Liem kisses him again, though, meeting the warm, lazy curve of his mouth with tender curiosity, the covetous slide of his arm around Cardan’s waist suggests he’s already formed his opinion. He’s more than half convinced that by the time they set foot back inside the house, Cardan’s good humour will have worn itself out, leaving the entire trip as little more than a pleasant dream—but it’s impossible to care about that now, when he is so beguiled by Cardan’s lips on his lips, his lean body tucked close, and the gentle thumping of his heart against the forest’s background music. He is tempted to nibble at that wicked mouth—so he does, gently, and wanders to trail cool kisses along the sharp line of his jaw.

So perhaps Cardan’s plans for vengeance were not so terribly shortsighted after all.]

And yet I am still so richly rewarded, [ Cardan drawls, and doesn't bother suppressing the little shiver he'd felt at the touch of those teeth. His face tilts easily to accommodate Liem's wandering kisses, and his laugh is a little breathless. If it's strange -- to have gone from cold war to this -- so what? If the peace is tenuous, if they are to start bickering again once the manor's walls close in on them, is that not only reason to enjoy the here and now?

Cardan has always been intemperate.

Liem is close, closer than he has been on any night except the one before, and this time Cardan is less encumbered by wounded pride. He remembers too well the body hiding beneath those well-tailored clothes, moon-pale skin and muscle, pliant against his hands. He wants to feel it again -- wants to sneak hands beneath Liem's jacket and run his fingers down his chest, feeling the shape of him under the fine fabric.

So he does.

It's odd, still, to feel no warmth; Cardan wonders what it would be like, skin-on-skin, wonders if his touch feels hot to Liem. Wonders how quickly he could remove the bothersome barriers of clothing from them both.

Perhaps he'll start with the shirt; Liem could stand to be a little more disheveled, anyway. ]

[Liem's only reply to Cardan's drawl is a low hmm—because he's right, he has only ever been rewarded for his prickly treatment of his spouse, and because Liem would rather keep kissing him now, while he has the opportunity, than scorn him for his temper and his mischief.

Which is not, he's aware, a good way to encourage better behaviour.

But he likes the breathless cadence of that laugh, and he likes the willing ease with which Cardan tips his head beneath Liem's lips, and he likes the way those clever hands drag down the contours of his chest. And in all honesty, he likes the self-satisfied drawl too, so the odds of Cardan getting exactly what he wants at this very moment are looking pretty good. Liem takes a shallow, distracted breath, his touch wandering Cardan's back through the barrier of his shirt, and noses further down to kiss his neck.

This, despite the strange forest-green quality that makes Cardan smell so different from any human or vampire Liem has known, is still familiar: the hot skin of his throat, the pulse fluttering beneath the path of his lips. Liem sucks a kiss against the side of his neck, enchanted—then, recalling with curiosity the shiver Cardan had for the scrape of teeth on his lip, he teases his fangs over the kiss-damp skin.]

[ Liem has evidently found a good spot. Cardan will shiver again for the touch of his mouth; bizarrely, paradoxically, his skin feels overheated in the wake of Liem's touch. He's distracted from Liem's shirt by the want to card fingers through his hair. As it turns out, he has too many places he wants too touch and not enough hands.

He's reshuffling his priorities when he feels teeth-- no. Fangs.

The reaction is immediate. Cardan sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed; the fingers on Liem's shirt buttons stutter, then bite, pressing hard into cool skin. There is an animal instinct to it, a swift sense of caution, like the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff--

For a moment, he is suspended in it, in the hot thrill of danger that rushes down his spine and straight into his cock. He's always been unwisely fond of this kind of risk, always too enamoured with the challenge of it, as moth to flame.

He opens his eyes, looks down at Liem. The expression on his face is coolly imperious-- though his breath comes quickly and his pupils are dilated, black-on-black. For a heartbeat, he will only stare.

Then he smiles one of his sharp-edged little smiles. ]

Don't tease something you aren't going to do, Liem.

[ The hypocrisy of that demand does not escape him. ]

[Cardan's reaction is fascinating. Not just because of the way his breath sucks in and his pulse jumps, though Liem certainly notices those things, just as he notices the stutter and bite of the fingers on his chest. There's a part of him that will always thrill in the moment of realization, the visceral reaction that comes when someone feels the promise of his teeth and can't help but anticipate their bite. It sends a shiver right through him, heady and thrilling.

But the really fascinating thing is the look Cardan gives him, like he's gazing down at him from a throne instead of on a hillside with Liem's mouth still just a breath away from his neck. He didn't expect Cardan to swoon at the touch of teeth at his throat, but this is a reaction he's never received before. That sharp little smile pairs amazingly with the wide pupils, the quick breaths; he looks like he's staring death in the face and isn't particularly impressed, which is outrageously sexy.

But it does not really look like the reaction of someone who is pleased with the direction things are going.]

I'm not going to bite you unless you want me to.

[He leans back a little, trying to better gauge the look Cardan is giving him. It could simply be goading, he supposes, but if that's the case then he doesn't understand where the sudden chill has come from. A little furrow appears between his brows.]

Or… did you think I would refuse?

[ Cardan blinks.

...this is not quite how he envisioned this going, either. Liem was supposed to feel provoked into doing the thing that Cardan and his very obvious (to Cardan) arousal want him to be doing, not into asking ridiculous, self-evident questions.

His eyebrows inch up. ]

You haven't shown any particular desire to.

[ Which is, in fact, insulting. It's not like he doesn't know that Liem feeds; his smell is the sharpest of his senses, and it's not particularly hard to note the faint scent of blood, nor the way Liem looks just a little perked in the aftermath.

Cardan's hand leaves Liem's chest to make an airy, dismissive gesture. ]

I presumed you had little taste for immortal blood.

[ He presumed this because the alternative is worse. ]

[Liem regards Cardan’s incredulous expression with a faint frown, mostly because he’d been trying to be respectful and his husband has once again found his peculiarities irritating instead. It is unusual for higher vampires to marry outside of the vampire aristocracy, and there isn’t much precedent to dictate how one should treat a warm-blooded spouse. But he’d imagined that thirsting after him as a meal or a plaything would make their union seem demeaning, especially to royalty.

He recalls what Cardan said to him after the night of their wedding, after he’d brought Cardan into his bedroom for the very first time:

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

I’ve spent the last several weeks convinced that you couldn’t stand me.

[He has not, actually, been dissuaded from believing that to be true, but that had doubly been his assumption prior to tonight. His hands do not move from their places: at Cardan’s hip, at his back. In fact, they have gone very still.]

I did not imagine you would welcome the opportunity to let me drink your blood, except perhaps as a chance to make me regret my interest.

[ The difficulty is that Liem is not incorrect: Cardan has been annoyed with him, and he very well may have found a way to make the experience of drinking from him fraught. It’s possible that he is doing it right now.

Neither of those things, in his mind, preclude fulfilling a marital duty – and he had assumed this to be one. Had braced himself for it, prior to his arrival; had thought it would, perhaps, not be so bad after all, upon that first flutter of attraction, way back on the night of their wedding.

But Liem had never asked, and Cardan would never offer himself up only to look a fool.

Now, however– ]

Are we not wed? [ His tone is a little arch. ] Why would I have denied you such a thing?

[Liem is too incredulous to rein in the sharp little puff of breath, not quite a laugh, that escapes him at the sound of Cardan’s question. Since when has their marriage inclined Cardan to give him what he wanted? Yes, why indeed should Liem doubt Cardan's generosity with his own lifeblood when seeking his good graces has been like trying to bottle moonlight?]

Perhaps for the same reason you decided not to fuck me last night, [he says primly.

It's a little unfair of him to drag Cardan's little prank back into the open after he already apologized, but Liem is well used to apologies that serve no purpose other than to help the giver feel absolved, and he is rather tired of them—just as he is tired of Cardan getting sassy with him for failing to read his mind.]

Or for any other reason you might like. I couldn't possibly say.

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