sterngaze | open post

[ If there's any reason that Cardan doesn't come immediately, it's because he's too distracted. It's Liem's face, it's the tension in that elegant body, the cadence of frantic breaths that he doesn't need except that he must, now, and it's because of Cardan, it's Cardan's hand that's coaxing those sounds and movements and frantic little touches out of him, and it's--

It's so arousing he might just forget to breathe, too.

In the end, it's the fingers on his back -- biting into sensitive, scarred skin -- that push him right up against the edge, right as slickness spills between them, wet on his fingers. He makes a noise that's somewhere between a groan and a whine, and presses forward, burying his face against Liem's cool neck. There is so little space between their bodies that those last few desperate strokes happen by sheer force of determination. He bites the juncture between Liem's neck and shoulder, if only to muffle the sound that threatens to rise out of his throat, and then he's shuddering through his own orgasm, Liem's taste still on his tongue.

It will take him a few seconds to calm his thundering heart. A moment to push himself up, though his muscles feel shaky. To look down at Liem in all of his sex-mussed glory and grin a satisfied feline grin, and then blink and glance up at the sky--

At which point Cardan will start to laugh. ]

[Somehow, even after Cardan's proven willingness to use them, Liem isn't expecting the bite of teeth gripping the crook of his neck. He meets the strangely bloodless experience with a gasp, and his arm slides further around Cardan's shoulders to clutch him closer, feeling the wild beat of his heart beneath the lean angles of his back; it's an oddly discordant combination.

Also strangely foreign is the sensation of a living, warm yet utterly non-human body lying on top of him as he lets his breaths subside and the shivers of tension gripping his body ease. He can still feel Cardan's heart bumping against his ribs and feel his breath warm against his neck. Strange as the experience is, it's actually… nice. It's very nice.

But not so nice that he won't let Cardan push back up to look down at him. That's nice in its own way: the flash of a grin on that lovely, wicked face, the interesting way the moonlight falls over his unclothed frame. Liem offers a small, pleased smile in return — a smile that skews a little wry when Cardan looks up and begins to laugh.

For a moment, he just lets him, regarding his sudden mirth with quiet bemusement. He murmurs, after a moment:]

That's not the reaction I usually get.

[ The dry commentary will set Cardan off a little more; he goes to cover his mouth, then realizes his hand is a mess, and lets his forehead drop to Liem's shoulder instead. It helps, actually: the cool, solid shape of him is oddly grounding. ]

You're going to be late again.

[ Even in this foreign sky, the slant of moonlight remains easy to read. ]

...I'm not apologizing this time.

[ Because it's Liem's fault, obviously, for taking them here, and for letting Cardan drape all over his lap, and for patiently teaching him about stars, and for being attractive and easy to bully, and--

Anyway, Cardan will take zero responsibility, is the point. But he does think of that little smile and decide that maybe things hadn't gone so poorly, after all. ]

[Liem doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden reality of his husband trying to subdue a laughing fit atop him. It’s a strange follow-up to the frankly adversarial tone of their coupling — strange in that he doesn’t find anything to object to in the tremors he feels through Cardan’s back, or the weight of his head against his shoulder. He wasn’t expecting to be charmed by it.

He is right, though. Liem flicks his eyes skyward to regard the tapestry of moon and stars as he slides his hand, absently, up Cardan’s neck and into his hair. They’ve lingered here longer than he had originally been intending to stay.]

Mm.

[He aims a pensive hum at the moon, as though in disapproval for its hasty transit through the night sky. Awfully inconsiderate of it not to consider his schedule on its celestial journey. But he cannot find the energy to be more than just disappointed by this newest inconvenience.]

I should have foreseen this. It was optimistic of me to think I could fit a jaunt to the woods into just half a night.

[His fingers card idly through his husband’s hair as he considers the slow-wheeling stars. Even if they make good time back to the house, he’s going to need a bath and a change of clothes before he’s even remotely presentable, and that’s going to make him much, much later than he’d hoped for.

Perhaps the evening after a sleepless day had not been the best time for him to be making scheduling decisions.]

[ Cardan is a little surprised to find there isn't a sudden flurry of activity from Liem's end; for the entirety of their short marriage, he's known his husband to be dutiful to a fault, and dogged in his pursuit of said duty.

But it has been a strange night from the very beginning. It occurs to him, for the first time, that maybe he's been a more significant cause of Liem's tension than he realized. Is he... relaxed? It's hard to tell without breathing or heartbeat to go on, but the calm touch in his hair suggests as much. And besides, Cardan himself hasn't felt this content in a while. His eyes threaten to fall shut at the sensation of those fingers in his hair; selfishly, he wonders just how long he could convince Liem to stay here.

...well, they should probably not fall asleep, at any rate, given that the sun's merciless ascent is but some hours away. He sighs, and wonders if his husband has somehow managed to transmit some of his annoying sense of obligation to Cardan. Because. ]

If this was a jaunt in the woods, then you've set quite a standard.

[ He's going to... sit up, which is a truly heroic effort, considering it forces him to pull away from Liem's hands on him. He's carelessly wiped his hand clean on the grass, and being on top has let him avoid most of the mess between them, but he holds no illusions: they both still look well and thoroughly fucked out.

Which is fine, actually. He'll raise a black eyebrow at Liem, unruffled. ]

I'm going to develop expectations.

[Liem does intend to sit up and attempt to put himself back together. In a little while. It's just that he suddenly seems to be melding a little into this patch of hillside, and his husband's presence on top of him is — despite this not being a word he would ever think to associate with Cardan — comforting. He likes having him there, basking in the shed heat from his skin while he listens to the slowing murmur of his heart.

But they do need to get back, after all. When Cardan pulls away to finally sit up, Liem lets out a small sigh and resolves himself to smoothing ruffled feathers at some very, very late appointments.

He pushes himself onto his elbows, meeting Cardan's gaze levelly for a thoughtful moment. After that brief pause, he smiles.]

I think that may be the highest compliment you've yet paid me.

[Did Cardan even mean it as such? Perhaps not, but he'll take it regardless.

In any case, he needs to put himself back in order — though no amount of neatening will threaten him with anything close to presentability — and they have a flight back home to coax from Cardan's pet. Hopefully the lingering satisfaction from having gotten thoroughly laid will give him the patience to treat with Gusairne even on zero hours of sleep.]

[ All-in-all, the longest part of the way back is convincing the moth to do it. It's not a creature that excels in planning, nor in considering long-term rewards, and its relationship with Cardan hinges strongly on Cardan's ability to bribe it into compliance. Making it understand that he will give it alcohol after they get back is a trial and a half. He has all but resigned himself to the necessity of finding ragwort to magic into horses instead... which is, of course, when it finally deigns to stretch out its wings and allow them to mount its fuzzy back.

From there, it's the same dizzying ascent and descent through the skies.

Once they are on solid ground again, Cardan takes one look at Liem, frowns, and demands to take over the meetings instead. He's not so daft that he cannot handle some merchants, surely, and in his current state, Liem is liable to scare away any visitors. Besides, does Liem really wish to look upon Gusairne's unsightly visage in his current state?

Of course not.

Surely he would prefer to put himself to bed instead.

Cardan hasn't had much sleep, either. What he does have are endless reserves of spite for the house seneschal, and servants who will bring him coffee, and cream, and sugar, and he manages to harness enough of the above to get through the night. That morning, when he slips into bed, it's the second day in a row that he does not bother with clothing, though he's expecting marginally better results this time around.

Not that either of them have much energy left for fucking.

Still, Cardan will reach one long arm over the chasm that is their bed and curl warm fingers against Liem's side before he drifts off.

It's a promise, or maybe a warning: he doesn't intend to go without touch again. ]

[Liem expected the ride through the skies on their trip home to wake him back up — and it does, after a fashion. Listening to Cardan attempt to convince the moth to carry them back nearly makes him succumb to laughter — though he restrains himself for Cardan's sake — and the dizzying climb has a similarly nerve-tightening effect on him as it did on their flight to the woods to begin with. He's certainly not in any danger of dozing off before they land.

But his wakefulness doesn't stop his brain from feeling like it's full of bees, or his thoughts from struggling to form as though through syrup, and he suspects this is more obvious than he'd like. If it's apparent enough for Cardan to insist on taking over his obligations for the night, he'd rather not show his face to any of the people he's meant to be seeing. In any case, he's curious what kind of results his husband will get when left to his own devices.

So he retires to their rooms for a much-need bath and a change of clothes. (He sneaks a trip to his study, but he's there for less than an hour before his attention starts to wander badly enough that even he admits he'd better just go to bed.) By the time Cardan joins him, Liem is completely dead to the world.

Though he does rouse enough to turn toward the warmth of his fingers and cover Cardan's hand with his own.

The following nights vanish under a welter of activity. A distant cousin of Iago's arrives without warning to stay for the week, and keeping the Duchess both entertained and out of mischief is a full-time job. Even with Cardan's assistance, Liem feels almost as exhausted by the end of that week as he had the night before she arrived.

It does not make for a fruitful atmosphere for getting to know his husband any more intimately.

But life goes on, as it must. The Duchess does finally consent to depart, and Liem has the opportunity to catch up on some of the work he'd neglected during her stay. He also has the opportunity to attend a dinner hosted by a neighbouring count, and this time, his husband is welcome to accompany him.

Obviously, as at any good vampire dinner, the food on the table isn't considered to be the main course, but when the "entertainment" portion of the evening begins, he finds himself glad of the excuse to slip away with his decidedly non-blood-drinking spouse. A little after-dinner drink has never gone amiss, but he's far too married to enjoy even a private vein with anyone now, more's the pity. And privacy does not seem to be the popular consideration of the night.

Well, he knows this manor well enough to find his own. There's a parlour across the house that's too small to see any use at an event of this size, and at this point in the night, no one will miss them if they vanish to make use of it. He guides Cardan unfailingly there, fingers twined furtively with his warm ones, so they can make their own entertainment.]

[ Cardan would have been glad for most any excuse to leave once the blood feast starts. It’s not that he’s squeamish about public sex – nor most acts of public violence – but looking around to see nothing but blood-stained fangs and writhing mortal bodies makes him hyper-aware of the warm reserves of blood contained in his own body. He’s certain he’s delicious, but he rather prefers not to feel like a meal on a platter.

Attending these things with Liem is both better and worse. In this particular case, it’s decidedly worse, at least up until the point his husband takes Cardan’s hand and leads them out. Cardan follows, curious about the determined way Liem plunges them into the depths of the manor – only realizing his intent once the crowd thins out around them.

At that point he only grins and laces his fingers more tightly with Liem’s.

A week. A full week of nothing more than half a dozen hastily stolen kisses, lingering glances from across dining tables, and dull conversation about the Duchess’s favourite hunting dogs. Sometimes, Cardan wonders if he isn’t in a fairy tale – one where the handsome, wicked villain inevitably gets punished with a taste of his own villainy. But that hardly explains why Liem (also handsome, decidedly less wicked) is suffering also.

Regardless, Cardan is all too happy to remediate past wrongs. The parlour door hardly has time to shut behind them before Cardan presses his husband against it and proceeds to put his hands all over him, determined to sneak under his beautifully tailored suit as soon as possible. ]

I am, [ he promises – rather laconically, considering that he’s speaking in-between frantic kisses, ] going to ruin you.

[Admittedly, a full week of unintended celibacy right after he finally got a proper taste of his husband has made Liem more than a little distracted. He's wanted Cardan's hands on him again for the entirety of the Duchess's visit, when circumstances could not possibly have been less favourable; now that they have no demands on their time, he cannot think of anything that he wants more, and that has affected his priorities.

It means that as they leave the sounds of revelry behind them and the manor around them goes quiet, he is much more intent on navigating the halls than on paying attention to the servants they pass, and the glance he gives the parlour as they enter is equally cursory. He sees no one within; he hears no breathing but that of the man next to him. By the time the door has closed behind them, his thoughts have already turned to warm hands and that impatient mouth.]

Oh, good.

[He murmurs as he's pressed back against the dark wood, his fingers tangling in Cardan's collar, sliding over the hot skin of his neck and jaw as he chases those kisses, careless of petty concerns like breathing. A shiver of keen-edged desire lances straight down to his cock. Good; he wants Cardan to ruin him. He's full to the brim with frustrated need, and he wants to feel wrung dry.]

[ Cardan’s own initial examination of the parlour hit only on the one thing he cares about: its lack of other guests. And though he is loath to pull himself away from Liem’s hands, from his mouth, he also knows what he wants to do next. Typically Cardan doesn’t plot out his trysts – much – but the past few days have given him more than enough time to think about it. In lurid, excruciating detail; at dinner, at outings, while consolidating menu lists. Sometimes first thing in the evening, upon rolling over to find Liem’s side of the bed long abandoned in favour of his office.

So.

He is going to sink to his knees. His palms drag down Liem’s sides; Cardan will mouth at the fly of his trousers, warm breath ghosting over fine fabric, even as his hands pin Liem’s slim hips against the door. For a short moment Cardan relishes the feel of him, the scent of him, swallowing down his impatience long enough to tease both of them, still–

He doesn’t hear the silent movement of well-oiled hinges; his first indication that something is off is a slightly misplaced foot on a creaky floor board. Even then, he only scowls and twists to look over his shoulder, expecting to find a guest but spotting the drab colours of a servant’s uniform instead. Was there another door–?

That's the last thing he thinks before pain blooms in his shoulder, sudden and unexpected. He only barely registers it before she’s already moving, fast, and there is the glint of something in her hands–

And all he can really think, through the haze of shock-pain-lust, is that he really, truly doesn’t deserve this. ]

[Liem's eyes follow Cardan down, hungrily, as he sinks to his knees. How could they not? The smell of blood still lingers in his thoughts from the feast they left behind, and the warmth of his hands, his mouth through the barrier of fine clothes is tantalizing. He resists the urge to squirm against the hands pinning his hips to the door — for now. For now, he just—

Hears a small noise, here in the room with them. His gaze flicks up to find a human figure in servant's garb, and it's this incongruity — that any servant would appear so soundlessly, in a room where servants have no business currently being — that makes his heart clench even before her arm moves to send a blade spinning towards them.

Alarm snaps him away from the door with violent haste.

He circles Cardan in a few short steps, details flaring like lightning strikes through his awareness: the glint of blades in her hands, the un-servant-like economy of her movements, the sharp note in the air cutting through Cardan's usual scent. Somehow it takes him the space of another quick, stalking-cat step toward her to register that she must have been sent here specifically to kill them, and the understanding sends an unpleasant thrill through him.

His hands, poised and open between him and the assassin, flex very slightly.]

[ She smells like ash and blood.

Probably not her own, though there is something subtly wrong in how she moves – fast, unnatural, her bones too mobile beneath the skin. Liem's moving in front of Cardan gives her a half a breath's pause. She seems to evaluate whether he's worth the trouble – as with most assassins, she's far more content being an ambush killer. But he's unarmed, she's decidedly not, and her target is too close to ignore.

So she lunges, anyway. Her arms spread as she does... and then spread more, pulling the skin along her wrists and elbows open. It will shred like tissue paper when touched, revealing mottled, bone-white skin and feathers beneath. Once ripped, the whole thing deforms like a deflated water skin; her face sags at her jawline and then splits entirely, revealing her true features: a down-turned beak, amber owl eyes, and a mass of feathers and hair.

She is also still horrifyingly fast. The stick-thin limbs close in, her shining knives gripped in taloned hands -- one slash across the vampire's throat, and if he dodges that, surely he won't dodge the one thrust into his stomach. What help will his little outstretched hands be, then? Surely none.

And the bleeding princeling behind him will be even easier work. ]

[Even before she attacks, Liem knows the woman is Wrong for a human; her scent is too alien, her movements too strange. The details ping as important, but he has neither the time nor the capacity to puzzle out their meaning. Shortly enough, the answer is made clear to him regardless, though too suddenly for him to process before it’s too late. He’s already moving, human opponent or not.

Because Cardan is still behind him, bleeding — and whatever this woman is, Liem can’t end her life without getting closer.

When she pauses, Liem tenses in his half-crouch; in the next moment, he explodes toward her. His arm snaps up to absorb the momentum of her first swing, contacting flesh with impact that doesn’t just bruise, but — horribly — tears that outer layer entirely. Liem registers the sensation with shock, even as he continues his movement to hook his arm around hers in an attempt to lock her elbow against him.

He’s not just trying to get inside her reach — though as he registers the true length of her arms, the necessity of that does become clearer to him. His momentum carries him directly into her lunge: into her chest, slamming his entire weight up through his head and shoulder — attempting to break her poise and force her back as he tries to wedge his head under her jaw and into the crook of her skin-and-feather-covered neck.

And it carries him into the dagger she thrusts into his stomach, jarring a strangled hiss from his lungs. The blade slides in with the telltale sting of silver, and if nothing else thus far had managed to sink fear into his heart, that alone would have been enough. His free arm snatches at her wrist, intent on denying her the chance to do any worse damage, but his attention on it is still peripheral; fear and hunt-lust spike indistinguishably in his gut, and they’re both snarling for her blood.]

[ Somewhere in the background of this, Cardan has managed to get to his feet. The knife – split from its path by his unexpected turn – had only left a nasty gash. It hurts, and it's bleeding, but he's almost certain he's going to live. In theory, he could probably even help.

In practice, all he can do is stare, frozen, at the two monsters tangling with each other before his eyes.

She’s fey, obviously – just what kind is difficult to tell, but there are as many shapes of fairies as there are stones in a forest. Why she’s here, why now, why murder– those things get shuffled to the background, largely unimportant: ultimately, he knows why. Ultimately, this was always going to happen one day.

It’s Liem who catches him off balance: though he knows, should have known, what his husband is and was, he has neglected to fully engage with it until now. It has been easier to think of Liem as quietly restrained, long-suffering, obedient to Cardan’s many caprices.

“Swift, brutal predator” was hitherto not part of Cardan’s impression. He watches, with mounting horror, the slip of her knife into what must be Liem’s abdomen, smells the hot scent of new blood, hears her aborted, choking screech when he slams into her feathered chest, shattering bone. Liem is lucky; the proximity of teeth to her throat spooks her, aborting her attempt to pull the knife up in a gutting motion. Instead, there is a suggestion of flapping wings; she will claw at him with her feet – razor-sharp talons there, too, burst free of shredded human skin – desperately attempting to gain distance. She is not built for endurance, and she had not expected his speed; this is already going much worse than what she had planned. ]

[Liem hadn’t expected such fragility from a creature capable of moving with such brutal quickness, though perhaps he should have expected her lack of physical resistance, given the delicate and birdlike nature of her form. He feels something snap as he slams into her, notes the change in her balance as she aborts her knife-stroke and claws at him with birdlike talons, abandoning her footing entirely in favour of the support of — wings?

He can’t see behind her with the position of his head, too busy grappling with her, adjusting his footing to account for the unexpected shift in her weight, vising his hand around her wrist and squeezing with the intent to crack bone, trying to force her into releasing her grip on the knife in his gut. He’s more worried about that than he is about her feet, although her claws are still scratching the hell out of him, and they’re doing a fantastic job of shredding his suit.

But although he’s in the position to go for her throat, the screen of feathers and deflated human skin makes him hesitate, and as they struggle, he makes a snap decision to pivot instead. The assassin is light, and she’s abandoned her root to the ground; so he half turns, shifting his weight abruptly as he uses the hook of his arm to hurl her bodily by one shoulder, aiming to slam her head-first into the sturdy, ornately-wrought iron grille of the room’s fireplace.]

[ She screams as she hits the grating – an utterly inhuman sound, punctuated by the hiss of burning flesh and hot blood. It’s not just the fire, but the iron itself, and from his vantage point pressed against the wall, Cardan sucks in a breath of involuntary sympathy. She has abandoned her original purpose entirely: all she wants now is to get away, and all of her considerable, vicious strength is aimed at the goal of wrenching herself out of Liem’s brutal grip and far from the fireplace. She’s blinded by blood, but she slashes again, more distraction than attack, even as she throws herself the way she came–

And she spits something at Liem, a sequence of screeches and chitters that snap her bloody, humanoid teeth together.

It takes half a second for Cardan to register what it means. His eyes snap wide open; then he, too, is moving, towards them, against every instinct he has. ]

Stop!

[ He wishes to sound authoritative, but there is more panic than not. Unconsciously, urgently, the shimmer of glamour curls around his voice, pointless as it may be: ] Do not kill her.

[If Liem has any reaction to the woman's scream — either sympathy or satisfaction — as her flesh sizzles against the iron, it doesn't register on his face. He simply adjusts his grip to crowd in on her again, this time intent on snapping the bothersome, twig-like arm still in his hold out of its socket. Every time she struggles it sends hot spikes of pain flaring from the dagger in his gut, and he's tired of trying to fight her for that hand.

But he's focused mainly on keeping the blade from slashing; he isn't as intent on keeping it in him, and when she wrenches away with everything in that strange, alien body, he almost staggers into the mantle as the blade finally comes out.

Well. It doesn't matter; the nice thing about having no real heartbeat is that profuse bleeding is never much of a risk. He gathers himself and pounces after her, pale eyes alight with pain and the promise of murder; this time when he catches her, it's her neck her intends to break. Judging by the stink of blood and panic pouring from her, it won't even be all that difficult.

Cardan's raised voice cuts discordantly through the litany of violence his body has become. It stops him mid-lunge, intent on baiting another swipe from his half-blinded opponent so that this time he can finish what she started.

Even though he stops, his eyes don't stray from the assassin in front of him.]

Convince me quickly, Cardan.

[He doesn't intend to wait long — especially if she attempts to flee before he's been satisfied.]

[ For once in his life, Cardan doesn't quibble with an order. He stops slightly behind Liem again, though his eyes are on the assassin's shaking form, blood and singed feathers and cast-off skin. She, too, seems frozen, one arm still raised to defend against attack, but her breaths are shallow, whistling. Whatever broke in her chest appears to be making itself known. ]

It would tether you to her master.

[ She hisses, and he feels a small dose of satisfaction somewhere along the panic. She had not expected to be understood.

...still, there is no real time to take pleasure in it. He speaks quickly. ]

She spoke a geas, though she should not have the power to bind you. [ If she did, surely she wouldn't have attacked with knives and flesh. ] Not unless she bought it. With her life, for example.

[ At this, the wings flutter, agitated; the assassin opens her mouth, and Cardan barks out a harsh laugh. ]

Oh-- you didn't know. Did you think your master gave you a boon?

[ He can see it all too clearly: Use the geas only when in great peril, and you will have the power to carry it through. Clever, if convoluted: even if she failed in her stated mission, she would succeed in another. ]

Edited (words) 2022-12-09 15:25 (UTC)

[Cardan’s answer makes Liem’s eyes narrow. It is not his custom to start fights that he doesn’t intend to finish. This faerie has attempted to kill him and his husband both; he is willing to tolerate much, but this goes beyond even his capacity for forbearance. After a certain point, being permissive only invites others to take advantage.

Also, right now he feels ready to jitter right out of his skin. His wounds sting, the stab wound especially, and every movement the assassin makes threatens to turn into a reason to take her down. The prospect of letting her leave goes against every instinct he has.]

If she dies? [He speaks the question evenly, resisting the urge to snarl it.] Or if she dies by my hand?

[Or by his teeth, presumably. That’s always an option where vampires are concerned.

He doesn’t like the idea of this living bomb slinking away with her finger on the trigger of magic he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t like the idea of her going back to her master to tell him what she’s learned about Cardan’s husband. He doesn’t like the idea of her succumbing to her wounds and bewitching him from afar. He especially doesn’t like the idea of this somehow coming back to bite him if she gets killed by someone else. That would be especially irritating.]

[ Cardan's eyebrows twitch up. It's a difficult question to answer conclusively -- magic is hardly an exact science. Beyond that, the fact that Liem doesn't appear fully convinced is worrisome. The trembling in the bird woman's wings is concerning, too; he doesn't know what Liem will do if she tries to escape. He doesn't know what his husband's wounds are doing to him, whether he's about to end up in a room full of corpses anyway--

He aborts the thought. ]

Perhaps not if it was by mine.

[ He doesn't intend on killing her; he has never killed anyone, and this seems like a fraught place to start. But the threat is cheap enough, and he's sure his reputation for cruelty makes it credible--

She appears to seize this moment to make the decision for them. The mass of stick-like limbs and feathers lurches back, scrabbling towards the back door in a mess of unnatural movement. The pause seems to have given her back some strength and coordination; though she is plainly hurt, she still moves with unnatural speed. If she can only reach it-- ]

[Although his eyes are still trained on the woman before him, Liem has split his attention more than he should. At the sound of Cardan’s reply, a frown tightens his expression for the first time since the assassin had thrown her first blade. When he had asked that question, he had not meant that he thought his husband should get involved—

She bolts.

She bolts, and Liem is just a heartbeat too slow to register whether that movement is aggression or escape, to decide whether he should really let her go, to note the door she’d come through, to move to intercept. He darts after, reaches the door just an instant after she flings it open and hurls herself through — and he’s ready to hurl himself right after her, to run her down until her wounds slow her just enough to land her in his grasp for a final time.

He isn’t thinking about what he’ll do once he catches her; he can figure that out later, probably. If he gets his hands on her again. His only thought is that she’s bought her own death and he intends to deliver what she’s owed, one way or another.

Except.

Except he stops, instead. He catches himself on the doorframe, dragging himself to a halt with a lurch that makes the solid wood creak. And he grips it, white-knuckled, as he stands on the threshold and watches her scrabble through another door and out of sight.]

[ For a few breathless seconds, Cardan thinks it's all for naught. They both move too damnably fast-- by the time he's lifted his hand and gasped Liem's name, she's out the door and Liem is at it. He feels like he's watching a cat pounce after its prey, unable to stop its killing instinct even if it had wanted to.

But Liem does stop. Inexplicably, he stops, though it seems to take him a great deal of effort; or maybe it's going after her that has exhausted him in the first place. Cardan doesn't know and doesn't want to stop to think about it. The tight knot in his stomach isn't resolving either way.

He makes himself step across the room, even though his legs feel suddenly leaden. ]

Please-- [ And even though it's unwise, and he's, frankly, a little terrified, he's going to reach for Liem's shoulder with somewhat tremulous fingers. ] --tell me you're not dying.

[ There is not a hint of irony in the question. ]

[At first, Liem’s grip on the wooden doorframe is all he has to ground his buzzing nerves and his twitching muscles. The stink of burnt flesh and the foreign, enigmatic scent of spilled faerie blood still hang heavy in the air, and he visibly quivers with the desire to stalk through the door and disappear into the labyrinthine dark of the mansion. The fact that the faerie has escaped his sight hasn’t made this desire any less potent; in a way, it has only teased it to higher excitement, added the thrill of a stalk, a real hunt, to the promise of a kill.

It would be best if he could sink his fangs into someone — for his wounds as well as for his nerves. Though the only other person here has shed enough blood tonight already, at least by his reckoning.

The hand on his shoulder doesn’t come as a surprise, nor even do the jitters that Cardan also seems to be afflicted with. Liem’s grip on the doorframe eases from its brutal intensity. He turns his head to look back at his husband, trying to shove the escaped assassin out of his mind for the moment.

He is not, however, expecting the question that accompanies Cardan’s touch. He blinks, and — before he can think to stop it — a broad, amused grin flashes over his expression.]

From a knife wound? No.

[He shouldn’t be so cavalier about it, but he’s just too wound up. What vampire had ever died from being stabbed in the gut? Only the woefully uninformed would expect to be able to kill a vampire with nothing more than some silver daggers.

But he does finally let go of the doorframe, and the smile vanishes just as quickly as it appeared, replaced with an intent look that he rakes over his husband as he touches careful fingertips to his jaw.]

You’ve lost some blood though, haven’t you. Where are you hurt?

Edited (grammar) 2022-12-09 22:06 (UTC)

[ The grin earns Liem a glare, though there is no real rancour in it; regardless of how silly Liem might have thought he's being, Cardan is only-- relieved. So much so that it makes him feel slightly weak-kneed now that the immediate danger is over. Later he's going to have questions, like where were you hiding all this violence and since when is a knife wound a minor inconvenience, but for now, it seems pointless to question good news.

He'll pull his hand away to close it into a fist, alarmed at its trembling. Worried that he may not be able to control it as well as he should. They aren't out of the woods yet, and the thought of dealing with... everything else... is exhausting. But what recourse is there?

Cool fingers touch his face, and he blinks, focusing with some effort back on his spouse's face. ]

I will be fine.

[ The gash at his shoulder is deeper than he's used to, but it's at least familiar enough -- and though his jacket is sticky with blood, it can probably wait. It hurts, but-- he's used to that too.

They have more urgent things to worry about. ]

We should leave.

[ He doesn't fancy explaining a room full of feathers and blood to whoever decides to fuck here next. ]

Edited 2022-12-10 01:27 (UTC)

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