sterngaze | open post

[Liem cannot disagree with his husband's observation. This is not the kind of place in which he usually spends any of his time, and his manner even as he joins Cardan at the table remains poised, alert; not because of the human company or the cheap surrounds, particularly, but nonetheless, he does not drop his cares at the door. Now, perhaps more than in other circumstances, the habit might seem especially out of place.

He watches Cardan place his order with the barmaid; places an order of his own as well, and this time it occurs to him to wonder if his husband did something peculiar to his eyes, for how studiously the woman avoids meeting them. Aside from her reluctance to meet his gaze, she seems as cheerful as he might expect from any waitress. More, even, for the benefit of her handsome company.]

Not exactly like this, [he says, once the barmaid has scurried off with her orders.] And not since I was younger.

[There had been the odd visit to bars in town when he'd been a youth — mainly to flex his meagre independence in a way his father wouldn't sanction. But he had lost the taste for that sort of thing some time ago. It seemed pointless: the empty posturing of a trapped creature wishing to feel the illusion of freedom.]

What magic did you put on my eyes?

[ He supposes he shouldn't be surprised Liem has noticed the barmaid's studious avoidance; perhaps he should have enchanted his own eyes, as well, and played it off as the peasantry's reaction to someone above their station. But that level of deception seems unnecessary, even if it would have been a little funny.

He waves a dismissive hand. ]

You would have looked bizarre with them changed. [ Uncomfortable, even. Cardan is too used to their piercing quality; glamouring the blacks of Liem's eyes would have made it feel too much like he was looking at a stranger.

He watches them now, his smile unapologetic. ]

They feel compelled not to look.

[ Unlike Liem, Cardan will strip off his gloves. There is not so much iron in their environs that he needs to worry, and besides -- his hands are chilled, and he would like to feel the warmth of the fire on them more intimately.

He clasps them, leaning forward to rest his chin on the weave of his fingers.]

Tell me more about your youthful adventures, husband.

[ He has difficulty imagining Liem as a youth. He would certainly not expect his husband to have ever engaged in the kind of wild nonsense Cardan got up to in his teenage years, but surely-- ]

I can't imagine you spent all your adolescence with your nose in books and papers.

[Liem raises an eyebrow just slightly as his husband waves one gloved hand. He had not considered how unusual he might look with differently coloured eyes; after all, he has only ever seen his in paintings, and infrequently at that. But he thinks of his father, tries to imagine his luminous golden eyes surrounded by white, and has to suppress a frown. Perhaps it would be strange. Even if it might ordinarily present a bit of an inconvenience for the humans present to refuse to meet his gaze, he has to agree that in this instance it's probably for the best.]

No, of course not. [His gloved hands rest on the table, one thumb running idly over the back of a knuckle. With the world's most sober expression, he says,] I had hands-on lessons, too.

[Where else had he learned to dance so precisely, or fight with such brutal efficiency? He had attended his physical lessons just as diligently as those in history or mathematics. But no — of course that is not what Cardan is asking after.

And yet, what is he to tell him? Truthfully, there was very little time during his youth that he did not spend attached to one tutor or another, especially after he became his father's sole heir. He spent little of his adolescence having anything that he expects a prince of Faerie would consider an adventure.

But perhaps it is enough that he did, sometimes, escape his father's watchful eye for a few hours on his own.]

I used to spend much more time in the forest than I do now. Some of it was more structured, of course — for hunting, and for holy nights — but I used to slip off by myself sometimes to see if I could find the wolves.

[It was easiest when they were singing, of course. He'd often had to trek back home disappointed after tramping for hours through empty woodland — but it was good to have something to look for, even if he didn't always find it.

The barmaid returns with their drinks; in lieu of any palatable-sounding wine, Liem has ordered a stout glass of whiskey that assaults his nose with the sharp smell of hard liquor. He wraps his fingers idly around it, pleased by the solidity of the shape in his hands.]

I got to be quite good at it. Though more than once I stayed out too late and had to lair in the woods until nightfall.

[ Liem's jest earns him an annoyed scowl. Cardan is about to open his mouth to clarify (snidely) that the details he's interested in are of the salacious variety, but Liem continues speaking, and he finds himself momentarily mollified. Granted, "spending time in the forest" isn't exactly the height of debauchery, but he would be dishonest to pretend he expected much different.

In truth, he is still surprised by the difference between the man he knows during work hours and the one whose bed he occupies daily. That this same precise, analytical husband willingly subjects himself to Cardan's nonsense is a miracle in and of itself. It makes Cardan want to push him just a little further each time, just to see how far Liem might indulge him and his intemperate desires for Liem's body and his time.

Which, he supposes, is how they ended up here.

His eyebrows rise as Liem continues his tale. He's aware there are wolves and vaguely cognizant that the wolves are special, but he's never particularly inquired beyond that. There just hasn't been time, and it's not like he'd ever seen them in the flesh -- having barely ventured into the wood, let alone by himself. ]

How scandalous of you. [ Missing evening lessons? Shocking. ] Your tutors must have been aghast.

[ Anyway, ]

What did you do with the wolves once you found them?

[When Liem samples the drink he's ordered, he is pleasantly surprised to find that it is marginally less offensive to his tongue than it is to his nose. There's no getting around the cheap quality of the liquor, of course, but then he supposes that's part of the charm of a place like this. There are any number of high end bars he might have taken his husband to instead, had that been their inclination — but instead, they are here. And since they are here, Liem contents himself with his mediocre whiskey.

His response to Cardan's assertion is a light shrug.]

I'm sure they had all been subjected to worse. My father was usually the one to kick up a fuss, more than my tutors; I was a good student.

[He'd always been attentive and diligent, so although his efforts rarely satisfied Iago, Liem's instructors tended to like him. As Cardan probably suspects, he'd been one of those boys.]

In any case — it depended on what they were doing when I found them. But likely what you'd expect.

[He says it like every over-achieving adolescent seeks escape from their unhappy family life by running around the forest looking for wolves.

Though he doesn't intend to mention that often, he used the estate wolves for their furry ears, which he used to pour his troubles into. They were ideal listeners: present enough to grasp the gist of his problems, but not clever enough to recall them with any accuracy or detail. And some of the more even-tempered ones could be persuaded to snuggle while he talked.

But that's not any kind of adventure, is it?]

Sometimes they were hunting, and I would just follow them. Or, if I caught them at the right time, we would wrestle. The younger ones especially tend to be quite playful.

[ As part of his effort to partake in local culture, Cardan has ordered a pitcher of beer. It tastes disgusting, of course, and there is absolutely no chance he will get any buzz off of it, but the taste of alcohol is at least comfortingly familiar. Though, having caught a whiff of Liem's drink, he considers that his husband may have made the wiser choice.

When he wrinkles his nose, it's both at the beer and the assertion of Liem's studiousness. ]

Of course you were, [ he mutters automatically. That much was evident from the moment Liem delivered his wedding vows.

Cardan isn't sure he had any expectations of what sort of activity might follow "looking for (and finding) wolves in the forest." Some light mauling? Certainly, the things Liem lists would not have been among his guesses. His eyebrows rise further as he listens; the idea of Liem following a hunting wolf pack is both intriguing and a little funny to imagine. Would he have just jogged along? Did the wolves get mad if he made too much noise? Though it does explain a little about the alert way his husband moves through a wood.

The wrestling just sounds cute. ]

Did you ever take anyone with you?

[ Well, he's curious. He'd figured out relatively quickly that Liem's social circle is nonexistent, and he's all but been told why, but a part of him wonders. If he has, Cardan is a little jealous of this person he probably doesn't even know.

Especially since he doubts his own ability to keep up with a hunting pack, though he's certain he'd be more silent at it than anyone else Liem has known. ]

[Liem smiles a little at the disgust on his husband's face when he speaks of his study habits. Just as Cardan hadn't had any trouble guessing that he would have been a diligent study, Liem is certain that Cardan must regularly have made his teachers vexed with him, even if he did manage to absorb what they were teaching.

He suspects that had he and Cardan been introduced ten years ago, they would not have gotten along. For that matter, he's not entirely sure how they get along with the frequency that they manage now. Momentum probably has a lot to do with it. A lot of the time, they're simply too busy to spend the energy on anything else.

But they're not busy now, and they seem to be doing all right.]

Into the forest? Sometimes.

[Liem keeps his fingers cupped close around his glass, sipping at it with the same measured diligence with which he approaches anything else that he intends to see through to the end. Perhaps by the time he reaches the bottom of the glass, he will have become accustomed to the flavour.]

Not especially often. My peers tended to want to visit town instead. [He quirks an eyebrow across the table at his husband.] There's not much to drink in the woods — not unless you're particularly taken with game.

[And some were — but most found hunting in the city to be far more engaging. Deer aren't especially good conversation.]

But not to find the wolves.

[ It takes Cardan a moment to realize that when Liem says drink, he doesn't mean the kind in his hands. One would think that with all the bloodthirst that surrounds Cardan, he'd have grown long accustomed to it, and yet-- it remains a little discomfiting, which is probably why the brush of Liem's fangs against his throat keeps its thrill time after time.

That, and he can only imagine the kinds of things he would have gotten up to in his teenage years, had he a taste for blood to go with his anger. It's a little alarming, though he doesn't consider most vampires his peers in their capacity for menace. No, Cardan imagines he would have been far worse than Liem's friends.

The beer's taste is little improved by sipping. Cardan frowns at his glass, then sighs, tips his head back, and downs the whole thing at once. Predictably, it does nothing for either his state of sobriety or his suddenly jealous mood.

Maybe asking Liem about who else has seen his forest was a bad idea.

He'll put his glass back down, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and lean back, considering his husband. For several moments, he says nothing, and when he does speak, it's softer than before. ]

What is it like for you? Wanting blood.

[ His gaze flicks to Liem's mouth, even though his fangs have been glamoured away. He lets himself stare at it anyway, his gaze half-lidded in the comfortable dimness of the tavern. ]

[In the silence that follows his answer to Cardan's question, Liem wonders if he has said something his husband didn't want to hear. Perhaps he would have preferred a story about the times he actually had ventured into town for drinks with a friend. Or perhaps that is exactly what he didn't want to hear at all, and Cardan's jealousy of Liem's drinking habits extends all the way back into the years before they ever met.

Though it seems preposterous to seriously entertain that notion. After all, surely Cardan cannot be so possessive of a man he married simply as part of a treaty, no matter how easily his jealousy is roused.

Liem does not know quite what to say in answer to his question, either. The only reply that comes to mind seems too obvious; surely Cardan must be expecting something aside from "it feels like need," but what else is there?]

What is it like to want for air?

[Maybe it is the same — a discomfort that builds to a need that threatens to become panic. Though the process is longer for blood-thirst, he has neglected his for long enough at times to know that it can make a person overwhelmed to utter distraction — and he's heard enough tales to know that beyond even that lies a wildness beyond the ability to reason.]

It is a want like any other, I imagine. Easy to ignore in some circumstances, and impossible in others.

[He considers for a long moment, taking a deep, pensive sip from his glass.]

But drinking is an indulgence as well as a necessity, so perhaps it is more like sex, if you could wither away from a lack of that. [His regard of Cardan is intent.] The want is just as bone-deep, just as compelling. Having a little will make one want more; having a lot will also make one want more, for different reasons.

[ Cardan doesn't think it sounds particularly like sex or breathing. It sounds like nothing so much as the need to drown himself in a bottle, itching under his skin whenever things go awry. Though at least, he supposes, he won't die without wine to soak up his sorrows -- not in any technical sense, anyway.

He will return Liem's intent gaze with his own; suddenly, the clamour and liveliness of the tavern seem secondary to those piercing eyes. He's not entirely sure that he wants to decipher Liem's meaning. Specifically, it is hard to tell whether his husband is coming on to him, or just implying that Cardan is withering.

...He has admittedly felt a little more wretched than usual as of late-- but then, he has never worked so hard in his entire life, not to mention any hour spent with Gusairne feels twice as long. Surely even Liem has to acknowledge as much.

It's not for lack of sex. It is, perhaps, for lack of sleep, given that the former is replacing good portions of the latter in his life, but some sacrifices are necessary.

He raises one black brow. ]

Are you accusing me of being sexually intemperate?

[ The smile he flashes Liem is a little delighted by the prospect. ]

[The look that Liem returns Cardan's way is touched just slightly with amusement, curving the corners of his mouth and lifting his brows.]

Am I? That would be terribly hypocritical of me.

[Unlike Cardan, Liem tries to limit himself in his hypocrisies — and he is not quite so shameless as to accuse his husband without acknowledging the talent that Cardan has for distracting him from other matters. He may be in no danger of wasting away without his husband's touch, but that hasn't kept him from wanting it fervently and often, nor from trading away sleep he actually needs for an hour or two of Cardan's undivided attention.

Not that it isn't also a pleasant novelty to have him all to himself simply for the purposes of idle conversation.

Tipping his glass up, Liem drains its contents in one long swallow and sets it back on the table with a firm click. Interest glints in his eyes.]

What of yourself? You've been forthcoming about the place you called home before now, but out of necessity; impersonally so. I want to know what you like about Elfhame. What you miss there.

[ It occurs to Cardan, perhaps a touch late, that this is the kind of conversation one might have if they were trying to get to know someone. There is a certain absurdity to doing that at this juncture when the person he's getting to know is his husband of several months, the one who has put his life on the line for Cardan's and whose body he maps with his hands and mouth several times a week.

The corner of his mouth twitches. It's a little awkward, too, to be talking about himself in this manner. He has a hard time telling whether Liem is just asking to be polite.

But it's not like he can lie -- and, surprisingly, he finds he doesn't quite want to. ]

I suppose I miss the smell of the sea.

[ What else? The wine is scores better, but that seems like an obvious complaint.

He tilts his head back, looking up at the tavern's dusty ceiling beams, and thinks about Elfhame's rocky shores and treacherous forests. ]

...Insmoor, the Isle of Stone, houses a market. Within, you may find most things imaginable, and many things that aren't: fine jewelry, dreams stoppered in little jars, that sort of thing. [ He waggles his fingers as if Liem obviously knows what he means. ]

Faerie is like that: anything is a little possible. You may pay a price you did not wish to forfeit, and worse, getting what you wanted may make you unhappier than you already were. But you might also be clever or lucky or brave enough to solve the riddle and win the contest. There is always some hope, however foolish.

And even though hope is the most dangerous of indulgences, [ he'll admit, his smile at Liem a little crooked, ] I can't say that I'm completely immune.

[For a moment, Liem wonders if Cardan will simply brush him off with some vague reply and move on as if he hadn't asked. He seems good at that, at ignoring inconveniences that he'd rather not address. Though perhaps Liem is at fault for wanting to pin him down with such details to begin with; there is no real reason why he should need to know more about his husband than the absolute basics.

He does not know how one would stopper dreams inside a jar, or why anyone would buy such a thing. Cardan's description of Faerie sounds suspiciously allegorical, like he's speaking of a place in a story, where even the wind in the trees or the fall of dawn's shadows might be imbued with meaning. But of course, it is people who inject significance into their tales, into their lives, and into their legacies. A land cannot itself be possessed of such mysteries.]

You say it as if it were an admission, [he observes, raising one brow.] Like danger should make the temptation less, not greater.

[And like Cardan's desire for indulgence isn't rapacious, at least by Liem's modest standards. Even though he had called hope a poison on the night of their wedding, it had not stopped Cardan from agreeing to help him defang the brother who so alarmed him. Given his own experience, he thinks Cardan's bitterness about the subject had the flavour of one who had dared to hope at least once too often, perhaps without ever meaning to.

The barmaid makes another appearance, claiming his empty glass so she might bring him another. Liem waits until she has moved on before he looks at Cardan again, though her aversion to his gaze is so unfailing that he's not sure why he bothers to attempt to meet it.]

I've been known to indulge more than I should. But then, what's the point of an immortal life if you spend it content with things just as they already are?

[ Cardan doesn't pour himself more of the beer -- one glass was more than enough -- but he does watch the glass within the cage of his fingers, the firelight dancing in the jewels on his rings. He doesn't want to look at Liem. He knows he has already allowed himself to imagine far too rosy a future: one where Dain is no longer a threat, one where he could stay where he is and worry about naught but the endless deluge of paperwork. Even though he knows it is nigh impossible. Even though he knows what the actual odds of their succeeding are.

Terror bites at his heels every time he stops to think about it.

He sighs and closes his eyes. ]

I would have liked nothing more than to be content.

[ And though he can pull the bitterness from his voice, he cannot do the same with his longing. It soaks every syllable, painfully bare.

A moment later, he'll shake it off -- giving a derisive little huff at his own sentiment. His eyes open again, meeting Liem's, a little sharper than before. ]

But heirs rarely have such luxury, I suppose.

[It is, Liem thinks, yet another misfortune in a parade of misfortunes that Cardan has been wed to someone like him, who would not know how to be content with himself even if he had an army of people to take on his duties for him. Is it because he is his father's only heir — because contentment has never been an option for him, regardless of whether he wanted it or not? He doesn't think so. He cannot imagine being happy with whatever carefree life his sister must have found in the mortal realm. What an irony, that Cardan's best hope for peace currently rests with a man who won't ever let himself stand still.

He doesn't know what to do with that knowledge, so he shoves it down to the bottom of his ribcage, to reside with loneliness he refuses to recognize.]

I was taught many things by my tutors, [he says,] but that was not one of them.

[So, Cardan is right; he does not know how to be content. It isn't a skill he expected to ever need, nor was the possibility offered to begin with.

For a moment, though, he tips his head as if in thought — and then glances briefly around the bar, taking stock of its occupants. His look at Cardan is sidelong.]

I don't see any heirs in this bar, though. Only a crowd of humble drinkers, and a pair of exceedingly well-dressed, very normal humans enjoying the charming atmosphere.

[ Cardan blinks, not expecting this new segue… and then feels a surprised little smile tug at his mouth, fully against his will — obviously against his will, given that it’s neither sharp nor mischievous, the way he prefers his smiles to be.

He hadn’t expected Liem to try to cheer him. It’s cuter than it has any business being. Intriguing, also, to hear him lie. Cardan doesn’t think it will ever stop fascinating him. ]

Dazzlingly handsome also, let’s not forget.

[ As recompense for catching him off guard, he will reach out to swipe Liem’s new glass the moment the barmaid sets it down, taking a sip. For a second or two, his expression is suspiciously mild, as if he’s trying to wrest back something else that’s threatening to show. He sets the mostly-full glass back down in front of Liem. ]

Though, sadly, only one of them possessed of sensible taste in pillow tassels.

[Liem is gratified to see the small smile that ambushes Cardan's expression as they regard each other across the table. It is a softer look than those his husband prefers to wear, and he's a little delighted by it. He wishes he could surprise such expressions from him a little more often.

His eyes flick down to follow Cardan's reach when he snags Liem's drink glass out from under his nose. He can't blame his husband for scorning the beer he's ordered — the smell of it pervading the bar doesn't incline Liem towards sampling any himself.]

Cardan, how unlike you. [His gloved fingers once more form a prison around his glass as he aims a mild, innocent look at his spouse.] Admitting your own shortcomings; that's unexpectedly humble.

[He takes a drink to subdue his own urge to smile, but his eyes still glitter with good humour.]

Worry not, husband. I'll happily lend you my advice whenever you like.

[He wouldn't want his dear husband to feel daunted when he buys a house of his own, after all.]

[ It’s not that Cardan shouldn’t expect this kind of treachery and mischief from Liem — it’s that it’s always a little delightful to be surprised by it. Anyone else would not get away with teasing him like this, even good-naturedly, and yet: his own expression remains evenly matched with Liem’s in the exquisite mildness of his regard.

Except for his eyes, which sparkle with cheerful malevolence. ]

Husband, [ he will drawl, drawing the word out like a promise, ] if I didn’t know better, I would accuse you of trying to provoke me.

[ Instead of distracting him, but— the less said about that, the better. Cardan smiles, languid, and reaches over to lay his hand over Liem’s, fingertips sneaking under his sleeve to slide over the bare skin of his wrist. ]

But since you have offered advice, let me hear it.

My spouse has grown so impertinent. How should I punish him?

[The ill will captured in Cardan's gaze, belying his mild expression, sends a thrill travelling all the way down Liem's spine. It's a delicate balance trying to attract his husband's menace without earning his ire. He only wants the one; after all, one of the benefits of providing Cardan the excuse to torment him is that it seems to put his husband in delightfully high spirits.

The other benefit is that Cardan is so wonderfully good at it.]

How troublesome for you, [he murmurs.] Well…

[He regards Cardan intently, thoughtful. He did promise his advice after all; he wouldn't wish to disappoint. The fingers against his wrist are a small but pleasing distraction — reminding Liem of just how little freedom they actually have to touch at present, by virtue of just how public their current circumstances are. They cannot very well get up to anything exciting in the midst of a crowded tavern.

… Or can they? As he considers, his gaze turns a little more coy.]

You intend for us to linger here a bit longer, yes? We have barely done more than sit down, after all.

It would be very frustrating for me if you were to make me desperate to take you home in the meantime.

[ Cardan smiles wider, and pulls Liem's hand fully within his grasp, so that he may lift it to his mouth. He presses his lips to the backs of his fingers, warm breath brushing against fine leather. ]

You mean you aren't already?

[ He's stalling a little. It's not a particularly simple task in a room with this many people. In a grand hall with immense tables and long tablecloths, they could have perhaps gotten away with some nonsense, but none of those things exist here -- and though there are shady corners aplenty, the table close to the fire is not in one of them. No one save the barmaid has approached them, but he is yet aware of the stares in their direction and the whispered, curious conversations. It's not particularly unlike being anywhere else, granted, only the quarters are closer than usual.

But he does have magic to ease his task.

He considers Liem, wreathed in amber light and delightfully unencumbered by business. As much as he enjoys watching his husband's noble profile bent over some logistical problem, this is how Cardan likes him best: when Liem's focus is solely his to command and enthrall.

Cardan grins, bright and sharp, and then -- very carefully -- presses teeth to the fine leather of Liem's glove. He wants to pull it off.

And though the tables beside them may sport some slight surprise, they seem a little dazed at it -- a bit slow on the uptake. Certainly, there are not nearly as many shocked gasps as there should have been. Maybe. Cardan doesn't know what the baseline level of debauchery for a place like this entails. Either way, his glamour persists -- making them interesting but challenging to focus on, like an acquaintance whose name you never remember. ]

[A laugh escapes him, soft and brief, as his husband looks at him from over his leather-clad fingers. Cardan does a good job of playing the handsome, charming prince, even when he most often uses his proximity to Liem to make him frustrated. He's done a terrible job of becoming resistant to his husband's mischief; if anything, it charms him more now than when they were first wed.

It's just that Cardan being a menace does nothing to make Liem any less compelled by the warm curves of his mouth or the impenetrable dark of his eyes. He wants them both on him, however his husband will grant them.]

Ah, Cardan. [A crooked smile flirts with his lips.] You've seen me desperate.

[The glass before him rests half-empty and forgotten on the table as he moves his hand just enough to better accommodate the tug of the glove from it. Liem can't help but glance over Cardan's shoulder, at the nearby table of bar patrons who had been watching them on and off since they arrived — but their interest seems to have waned at just the right time. In fact, though the bartender glances briefly their way, he can't see a single person maintaining the stares he'd felt on him before.

Which is good, because there is only one stare he cares to be the subject of just now.

Admittedly, his willingness to help his husband discipline him doesn't seem to imbue him with a particularly penitent air. When Cardan tugs the leather from his fingers, he uses the opportunity to cup his cheek with his bare palm, still cool despite their table's proximity to the hearth.]

[ In truth, Cardan has all but despaired in his ability to be anything but indulgent towards Liem -- no matter how hard he tries to be menacing, it's never quite landed in the way he's used to. Thankfully, Liem doesn't seem to have many complaints. And if he's entirely honest with himself, he would not want a spouse who was afraid of him the way Elfhame's flightier courtiers have been.

He likes the cadence of that startled laugh, besides.

Of course, Liem is right. Cardan has seen him desperate, and it's difficult not to picture it now -- the way Liem's longing lights up his face, how his breaths turn to gasps -- it only stokes his impatience, makes desire dance up his spine, which may not be a good thing in a game of endurance.

The glove lands on the table, immediately forgotten. He turns his face to press a languid kiss to the pale skin of Liem's wrist, lingering there, though no pulse greets the warm caress of his lips. From there, his mouth wanders upwards over Liem's palm. He'll kiss each elegant fingertip as he considers his quarry, turning an idea over in his head. ]

Finish your drink, [ he'll suggest, though it is not a request. ] And come sit closer to me.

[It is easier than Liem had imagined to tune out the surrounding hubbub — overlapping bubbles of conversation and the occasional flicker of movement from a curious glance their way — when Cardan’s lips are wandering over his skin. He is far too absorbed in the way his husband’s kiss lingers against his nonexistent pulse to waste his attention on trifles. For all that Cardan has not been shy about kissing him whenever they have the opportunity, even the most chaste touch of his lips manages to make his skin alive with longing.

He is also helplessly pleased, in a way that could become dangerous if left unchecked, to hear his husband give him instructions — and he doesn’t entirely understand why. He would have thought, as they became more familiar and the act ceased to humiliate him, that the thrill would become less also. And yet…

Liem blinks, flicks his gaze down to his forgotten drink glass as though surprised to see it still resting before him. He imagines one is not really meant to shoot down half a glass of whisky in one go, but human standards are not his, and he doesn’t hesitate to do so. Leaving both his glass and his glove abandoned on the table, he circles it to claim a seat next to his husband.]

Is this what you envisioned we would be doing, [he murmurs,] when you suggested we stop in and experience the local culture?

[ Cardan watches Liem drink, the corner of his mouth twitching up at the speed with which his husband takes care of his drink. He will lean close to listen to Liem's question, as if he needed the proximity to overcome the din of voices around them. He doesn't, but it doesn't matter; he only wanted the excuse to brace his hand on Liem's thigh, fingers splaying out in an indulgent caress. ]

In a way.

[ He doesn't pull back. Instead, his gaze finds someone just beyond his husband's shoulder -- a man with a curly copper beard looking glumly at the cards in his calloused hand.

Cardan reaches over and past Liem, his body pressing close as he leans more heavily on his husband. He waggles his fingers, voice luminous with magic. ]

You. Your game is finished. Give me the deck.

[ The man's eyes go unfocused, his smile a little dreamy. Obediently, he collects the cards from the table and places them into Cardan's proffered palm. Then the conversation at the nearby table resumes as if the game had never happened.

Now Cardan pulls back, releases Liem, quick fingers busying themselves with shuffling the cards. ]

Let us play a game. A simple wager: I will flip a card, and you will guess whether the next one will be higher or lower in rank.

[ Which should be fun for Liem, surely, given all the statistical probabilities he'll get to puzzle out. Cardan continues: ] If you guess correctly, you win. Otherwise, the round goes to me. The winner receives a forfeit of his choosing.

Naught that would extend beyond the realm of this tavern, naturally.

[ Naturally. Ordinarily, such a game would be weighted in Liem's favour, given his win relies on knowledge, while Cardan's is wholly dependent on luck. That would be fair and more than fair, which is why Cardan intends to cheat.

Already, the order of the first few cards in his shuffled deck is not what one would call fortuitous to an informed guess. ]

[It is a testament to Liem's patience that he doesn't become distracted immediately by the presence of fingers splaying over his thigh, or by Cardan's body leaning across his own. At his husband's request, he'd offered his advice on how best to punish him for his impudence — but he never promised that he would make it entirely easy for him. After all, the challenge is surely part of the fun. While his husband might not be fond of work, he does sometimes seem to want to do things the hard way.

Liem follows him with his eyes as he collects the cards from the next table and begins shuffling. His eyes fall naturally to the nimble movements of his husband's fingers, with their dancing jewels and their dancing cards. A smile curves lazily at the corners of his mouth.]

Naturally, [he agrees.] I accept the terms.

[So easily. Also easy: the way he drapes himself over his seat, one arm sneaking around his spouse while he has him close; the languid flicker of his eyelashes as he slides his gaze from Cardan's hands back to his face. Not at all the look of a man wary of impending discipline.

He expects Cardan to cheat, of course. He can tell that the slide of the cards around the deck is not entirely random, and he knows that wagering against a crooked dealer is a fool's game. But Cardan is not the only one guilty of indulging his husband.

And besides — he wants to play.]

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