sterngaze | open post

[ Cardan had thought to be a stern taskmaster in this, if nothing else: if Liem wanted to be desperate, then it should only be fair that Cardan pushes him past the edge of even that. That he be made to beg and writhe and tremble for Cardan's mercy, rather more insensate with pleasure than he can currently boast of being. What kind of punishment would it be, after all, if Cardan just caves to whatever Liem asks of him?

But the words I want you in my bed still shake his resolve. They tempt him, too seductive not to imagine -- Liem spread on silken sheets, Cardan's alone to devour, without the stink or noise of mortality around them.

He exhales slowly, once more in search of composure. Cardan's face dips, mouth pressing to the spot below Liem's ear, tracing a line of slow, considered kisses down to his collar. The hand on Liem's cock resumes its rhythm -- though this, too, is languid, as if they have all night. ]

And what will you do, Liem, once you have me there?

[ He's stalling. Liem has already won. He just doesn't need Liem to know it quite so directly. ]

Ah—

[Liem’s breath sighs out of him as Cardan’s mouth wanders deliberately down the side of his neck. He can’t resist the urge to tip his head slightly under the considered attention, lengthening the line of his throat just a little in invitation. There is too little of him exposed between his ear and the stiff line of his collar; yet one more reason for him to wish them both back home, where his husband might be persuaded to undress him properly. He wants Cardan’s mouth on more than just his neck.

There is an insistent and perhaps embarrassingly honest part of him that thinks whatever you want in immediate answer to Cardan’s question. There is a limit to how permissive even Liem will be in a place like this, for all that he has invited his husband’s mercurial attentions here. But in the privacy of his townhome bedroom, he imagines he would grant Cardan anything he demanded, no matter how greedy his desires.

Still, their visit here has made him greedy, too.]

Kiss you until you make me stop, [he murmurs, covetously.] And get my hands all over you, besides.

[ Cardan laughs despite himself, muffled against Liem's throat. He's pleased about the way Liem reacts to his touch, about the offer of his throat to the hunger of Cardan's kisses. Pleased, too, about his surrender to Cardan's demands, even unreasonable as they are.

But that's not why he's laughing. ]

What about me, husband, [ he will ask, affectionate amusement threaded through his voice, ] makes you think I'd stop you?

[ He knows not why he would want to. What better way to spend an early morning than kiss-drunk in Liem's bed and in his arms? Cardan isn't the one who is concerned with mundane things like responsibilities, nor with strategies and plans. He has spent most of his life being a creature wholly ruled by desires, and he is not particularly inclined to stop now.

So he will kiss Liem again, even as the hand around his wrist slips away to slide under his shoulders instead, so that Cardan may pull his husband up to sitting, tucked tight against his own body. For all his talk, he will pull away first, leaving Liem to deal with unrumpling himself while he collects the cards from the table. ]

[Maybe it's naive of Liem to think that there would be a limit to how much kissing his husband would wish to fill his morning with. Cardan has not proven himself to be a man much concerned with moderation even if, by Liem's reckoning, he does seem to prefer being at least nominally in control of their activities. And admittedly he also has proven himself susceptible to persuasion — at least the kind that Liem tends to do in their bedroom.

Even so, he cannot regret his answer — not with his husband's laughter muffled against his throat, curving the corners of Liem's mouth.

When Cardan kisses him again, pulling him upright and into his embrace, Liem delivers a taste of what he'd promised, his newly freed hand finding Cardan's face to trace the line of one elegant cheekbone as he sinks indulgently into their kiss. He's not persuaded to pause, even to properly dress himself again, until his husband finally pulls away to gather up the borrowed deck of cards. Only then does he relinquish his hold on his spouse and begin setting himself to rights.]

If nothing else, [he comments, sliding down from his seat on the table,] then that recurring need of yours to catch your breath.

[ Fittingly, Cardan's laugh is little more than soft exhale. ]

You may kiss me breathless whenever you like.

[ After all, he has come to enjoy few things so much as the pleasure of Liem's kisses, of how he seems to melt into Cardan's touch, pliant and lovely. It is one of the few ways, Cardan has noticed, in which he can reliably pull his husband's focus from his work, and he tends to abuse it rather mercilessly.

But now that he's pulled away, he does not want to distract either of them further. He is keen, suddenly, for the quiet of Liem's townhouse and a bed that's just theirs and which isn't soaked with drinks besides. He drops the deck of cards in their owner's pocket, with enough gold for two weeks' worth of pay; once he's done that, and deposited the payment for their drinks on the table besides, he will turn to Liem, impatient. ]

Shall we?

[ Nevermind that he hasn't bothered pulling on his gloves, and his coat is only draped over his shoulders. Surely the promised townhouse cannot be that far. ]

[Liem goes about the business of putting his clothes back in order with a smile on his lips, his eyes drifting now and again over to his husband, who seems suddenly in rather a bit of a hurry. For someone who agreed so readily to the prospect of making Liem impatient to leave, he appears a bit short on patience himself. It's a little charming; Liem hadn't really meant to tease his husband when he'd suggested his punishment, but tormenting him has ever seemed to rob Cardan of what little patience he had to begin with. He'd be hard pressed not to enjoy the effect it has on him.

Once he's judged himself about as un-rumpled as he's going to be, at least in a crowded bar while both he and his husband are hasty to leave, Liem pulls on his discarded glove and shrugs himself back into his coat. The look he aims at Cardan, who is even more carelessly dressed for the cold than he, is quietly affectionate.]

Let's leave these good people to their drinks; may they find in them more enjoyment than we have.

[But he does step around his husband to lift the coat from his shoulders, so that Cardan might easily slide his arms into it. After all; it's nippy outside.

The townhouse is not terribly far, but it is certainly not in this rather humble part of town. A brisk walk through sparsely falling snow is required to bring them to its wrought iron gates, which are manned by a pink-nosed young man who scurries to let them in. The building is taller and narrower than the main house, and a little newer-looking: more manor, less castle.

Inside, however, it is much the same as home; clearly it has not been spared Liem's decorating preferences. And though the house itself cannot be commanded at Liem's whim, the servants are quick enough to scurry ahead and ensure that his rooms are suitably welcoming for the young master's return, with lit fires to banish the early winter chill. The slightly smaller rooms that Liem calls his own feel almost cozy compared to the ones he's been sharing with his husband until now, though they don't really smell like home.

But most pleasingly, they don't stink of unwashed men and cheap liquor.]

[ He accepts Liem's fussing over his coat -- because it's charming, even if the semi-amused huff Cardan directs his way insists that it's unnecessary. Still, Liem's look disarms his protests, not that he had many to begin with. It is novel: the feeling of being taken care of.

(In the end, Liem is right: he is cold, though he stubbornly refuses to put on his gloves or button up his coat, instead shoving his hands in the pockets and walking at the briskest pace his dignity can sustain.)

It's a lovely little house, not that Cardan pays it much mind -- he's too busy thinking about pressing Liem against the door and making good on that promise of breathless kisses. He cannot, of course -- and so his glance at the staff is banked with impatience, and he hands over his things with a thoroughly imperious air, eager to be out of his overclothes.

He will follow Liem to his (their) rooms with an equally restless air, looking like a man who wishes he could lead the way -- if only he knew it. It reminds him a little of their journey to Liem's rooms on that fateful wedding night, even if he could not be feeling more different from that quiet, anxious trek, his tension and rage tightly wound from the top of his spine to the bottom of his feet.

No, it's not like that time at all.

For example: the doors don't open on their own, and they do not fall shut on their own, either-- Cardan closes them, rather insistently, leaning against the wood for good measure. He has hardly glanced at the room itself: his gaze rests instead on Liem, and the focus in it is rather single-minded. ]

What now, husband?

[At least, since Liem has the gall to be impervious to the chill regardless of how underdressed he might be, he restrains himself from giving in to the urge to tell his husband "I told you so." He is courteous as ever as he guides his spouse through the townhouse's narrower halls, his thoughts occupied with the charming, chilly little flush on his cheeks. Liem cannot warm him up with his touch, either, but their rooms will be warm, and at least they have not been outside long enough for Liem to lose too much of his meagre heat to the outdoors.

He does not wish to wait much longer to have his husband's hands on him.

Nor does he hesitate to reach for Cardan once they are within the privacy of their rooms, with the doors shut against the murmurs of activity from the house's servants. He catches one of his husband's clever hands in his, and lifts it just long enough to brush his lips over the rings adorning it before he tugs Cardan further into the room, towards a door in a bracketing wall.]

Now, I finally have you to myself.

[He says it with quiet satisfaction, pleased to not need to devote a single thought to anyone other than the man in front of him — and pleased that there is no one around to distract his husband, either. Liem barely glances at the door when he reaches it and pushes it open, going through backwards, loath as he is to turn away. Besides, he well knows where he's going.

It's not actually a bedroom that he pulls Cardan into; rather, they emerge into what looks like a small private study, one whose bookshelves are filled for pleasure rather than for work. The fire here is lit just as in the sitting room, and it is the thick, woolly fur rug in front of it that Liem backs towards. He will fold himself down onto it, bringing his spouse along with him, and slide a hand around the back of Cardan's neck to pull him into a kiss.]

[ You could have me to yourself anytime you wished, he doesn't say. It's easy enough to ignore the thought with Liem's mouth ghosting over the backs of his fingers. It makes him look like a knight in a fairy tale, come to gallantly escort his wayward prince -- which isn't far off from the truth, but a dangerous thought to have regardless.

The books in the study catch his attention for a fleeting moment -- but only just. Liem pulls him towards the fireplace, onto the rug, and Cardan's eyes alight with an entirely different kind of interest. He lets himself be tugged onto his knees, one hand dipping into the plush fur to brace against it. His gaze is trained on his husband with barely abated hunger.

When Liem kisses him, it feels like a balm unto his teased patience. Cardan lets himself sink into it, into the cool touch of Liem's hand and the anticipation of a morning without further obligations. Only this: submitting himself to Liem's kisses and his own simmering hunger, letting Liem have everything Cardan had promised him and more. His hand draws covetously over Liem's flank, his waist, the slim line of his hip -- a little aimless, just wanting to feel him even through the layers of clothing still separating them.

Mine, he thinks, not for the first time. And still, the force of his own possessiveness surprises him. Not even Cardan can claim excuses for it here -- not when he's cold-stone sober, barely even undressed, unrestrained by any social obligation. He doesn't want Liem because he's jealous or because he's five seconds from coming and feeling greedy about it: Cardan simply wants him for himself, like a dragon hoarding a treasure.

It prompts a shaky little breath from him, a soft sound of surprise and want at once. He doesn't allow it to linger. He can only kiss Liem again, and be content in the understanding that his husband doesn't know the extent of Cardan's foolishness. ]

[For all his frustrated want and all his impatience when Cardan had been touching him in the bar, once they are alone in that quiet study he rarely has time to visit, cushioned on the fire-warmed rug stretched out before the hearth, Liem is in no hurry to rush his husband toward a particular conclusion. The quiet solitude of the room and the heated slide of his husband's mouth on his do much to draw the restless ache from his bones, leaving him without a care for anything but the man next to him, the soft sigh of his breath and the covetous wandering of his hand down Liem's flank.

There are many things he might wish to spend his time on just now, but every one of them begins and ends with Cardan. And given that he now has him at his pleasure, hungry for his touch and his kiss, how could Liem be anything but content?

For a long moment, he is only concerned with exacting his husband's promise from earlier, and kissing him until Cardan's soft breaths turn to gasps. He winds an arm about his shoulders, fitting himself closer against him as he kisses him with a slow and measured indulgence, carding his fingers gently through soft, raven-black curls. He has not often had the luxury of touching his husband without any underlying urgency, whether from haste or from desperation — but he does so now, refusing to let the responsibilities of tomorrow encroach upon their waning night. Although his kisses are hungry, he takes the time to savour them, until he finally breaks off his leisurely assault and pulls back.

But it is only to shrug free from his jacket, and to lean back against the rug's plush surface so that he can pull Cardan down atop him.]

[ Cardan, for his part, does his best to ignore his pesky need for air for as long as he can. It's fine, he imagines, to feel a little dizzy; is that not what the poets describe romance to be like? Dizzying and breathless, heedless of reason -- and he certainly feels like his already meagre attachment to reason dissipates whenever Liem is like this in his embrace.

Not that there is anything unreasonable about kissing his lawfully wedded spouse.

Still, he sighs into the feeling of Liem under him, shivering only slightly when his hips brush against his husband's. Cardan is still breathing a little fast, and the colour has stayed high on his face, but the look he directs down at Liem only mixes smugness with pleasure. ]

You are indulgent tonight. [ His hand curls over Liem's cheek, thumb tracing the curve of his mouth. Cardan will dip down to kiss him again, though he doesn't stay this time: his lips stray to Liem's jaw, smearing warm kisses over cool skin even while his hands divest Liem of his tie pin and loosen the knotted silk around his throat. He is indulgent himself: even though impatience simmers in his blood, even though he aches for Liem's touch on his skin, this does not feel like a thing he ought to rush. ]

Am I to have you right here, then, Liem?

Edited (it was bugging me lmao) 2023-04-05 16:14 (UTC)

[It would be difficult not to be indulgent when he finally has Cardan to himself like this: away from Iago and the house, away from Gusairne and the many responsibilities endlessly calling to him from the cabinets and shelves of his study. It is so rare for Liem to have the time he would wish to soak in his husband's presence, and give his attention to the way their bodies fit together, to the way the firelight reflects in his dark eyes, to the quiet sound of his voice and to that green, growing scent that has become so comfortably familiar. He can only tip his face gently into the touch of Cardan's hand, and slide his own palm around his waist, letting out a soft sigh as his husband's kisses wander, warm and unhurried, over his jaw.

He is so helplessly, hopelessly lost in his wanting for him. When he is working, the feeling is a distraction, picking at his concentration regardless of how he tries to set it firmly aside. Now, with Cardan's fingers undoing the tie at his throat and Cardan's lips murmuring close to his ear, his thoughts are full of only him, and he doesn't know how he's meant to stand it if he has to suffer another night without him here like this.]

Yes, [he breathes. Yes, he is being indulgent. Yes, he wants Cardan to have him here, in the quiet of this private place that he hasn't dedicated a morning's ease to for the better part of a year.

The hand at Cardan's waist tugs gently at his shirt, coaxing it free of his trousers so that Liem can slip his hand beneath loosened fabric to find the small of his back; brush cool fingers from the trim line of his waist to the gentle curve of his spine. His other arm loops again around Cardan's shoulders, tracing the shape of them beneath his clothes. Regardless of when or where he is, he always remains hungry for the pleasure of his husband's body tucked within the circle of his arms; here and now is no exception.

He looks up at Cardan from his place on the rug, expression intent, fingers just brushing the nape of his neck.]

You wear the firelight beautifully.

[ Cardan's eyebrow twitches up; his grin is sharply delighted. ]

If only I was wearing less of everything else.

[ There is something about the intent look in Liem's bright eyes that makes pleasure curl unaccountably in his chest. It makes him feel like a magical thing, something wild and strange, having come out of a forest to disrupt all of Liem's civilized plans.

If Liem is trying to charm him, then it's working a little too well.

Silk whispers over the collar as he pulls the tie free of Liem's neck. It's still wound around his fingers when his hands find their way to his husband's slim hips, curl around their familiar angles to shift their bodies -- just so, so that the next time Cardan moves against him, the delicious shiver of friction makes his breath stutter and his eyes slide half-shut. He leans low to press his mouth to the thin fabric of Liem's shirt, right over the hollow of his collarbone, inhaling his ink-and-blood scent -- except that he smells like Cardan now, which makes him ache with a deep possessiveness too.

He moves again, arching his spine against the gentle caress of Liem's fingers, and shivers again with the languid pleasure of it. He's pulled back enough to look down at Liem, to watch the light play with his sharp, elegant features and thinks-- You too. As beautifully as I ever could.

The silk of the tie burns into his palm. He exhales on a persistent thought, and the quicksilver smile twitches into place again. Under his shirt, his coiled tail moves, bumping up against Liem's hand. ]

...shall we have one last wager?

[Cardan's smiling little lament brings a slight lift to Liem's brows. His hand slides just a bit higher up his husband's back, bringing the hem of his shirt with it.]

That can be arranged.

[He certainly agrees that Cardan would only look more handsome clad in naught but the golden light from the hearth. And, eventually, he does mean to see him thus.

But he is not in a hurry, and his husband continues to provide very compelling distractions — such as the hands that settle against his hips to reposition them beneath Cardan, rousing a flutter in his belly and a soft hum in his throat as his husband moves against him. For a moment Liem tips his head, pressing his cheek against dark, glossy hair, shifting his hips into the slide of Cardan's body and breathing in the quiet pleasure of his closeness. Even through the fabric of his shirt, Cardan's mouth stamps a small and seductive warmth against his skin.

When he pulls back again, Liem's fingers slide round from the nape of Cardan's neck to brush against the angle of his jaw. He smiles at the restless bump of his husband's hidden tail against him.]

Tell me the wager, Cardan.

[ He tilts his face, pressing his mouth against the tips of those cool fingers. Liem feels good: his hands feel good, and his leisurely rumpling of Cardan's clothing feels good, and the soft, easy expression on that so-serious face-- well, it makes something sharp and a little panicked rear up inside Cardan, but it should feel good, too, is the point.

He pushes the feeling down; instead of panicking, he will shift on top of his husband, hand splayed against Liem's side, so that he may reach inside the breast pocket of his suit. ]

A riddle. Here, in my hands, is a thing I've kept close to my heart. [ With a flourish, he will reach into the breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out-- one last card, the face of which he will keep hidden even when he turns it over in the grasp of his fingers. His eyes find Liem's, and though mischief is dancing in them, it is overlaid with a cool interest. ]

Guess which suit it wears, and the win is yours.

[Liem's eyes follow Cardan's flourish with the lazy intensity of a cat watching fish dart around a bowl, with nowhere to hide and nowhere to escape to. He has discovered an enduring pleasure in watching his husband do things with his hands. Like his husband, they are clever, and handsome, and a little unpredictable: just as pleasing to watch in action as to be subject to.

One eyebrow lifts slightly at Cardan's riddle. But I am only wearing half a suit, now, he is not quite cheeky enough to say. Perhaps his experience in the bar has chastened him.]

And what am I to do with such a victory?

[His arm, sliding back around Cardan's waist, gives him a possessive little squeeze. Does he not already have what he might wish for right here? He surely has no need to wager with his husband for anything else, no matter how alluring his look of mischief is. Especially considering how much a novice he is at riddles, it seems he mostly just stands to lose from a wager like this one.]

Perhaps I have no need to wager any further.

You do.

[ He says it with the absolute certainty of a man who can speak naught but truth. Cardan taps the card to his chin idly, surveying Liem. The arm around him is surprisingly persuasive; it should be easy enough to discard the card and continue his affectionate exploration of his husband's mouth, throat, of the expanse of skin still hidden under his clothing--

But Cardan cannot help being what he is. ]

Not for my forfeit, perhaps. You seem averse to asking me for things that cost me. [ The only one of Liem's asks that had skirted uncomfortable was the question about Liem's most alluring feature, and at least in part because Cardan had made it so.

Still, the look he gives Liem is unwavering. ]

But you are soon headed to a land built entirely on riddles, and so you ought to practice. Your next taskmaster may not be as indulgent as me.

[For a moment, Liem simply regards his husband, smiling a little at his absolute confidence that he must play. Perhaps Cardan is right; riddles and games have never featured heavily in Liem's day-to-day, but they are common fare in the place he's soon to visit. How can he do business with the folk there if he will not even wager with his own husband?

He does not know how much he really believes that letting Cardan fox him with card games will develop his skill with riddles, but then, he wasn't really intending to refuse his husband to begin with. He just wanted Cardan to convince him; whether it ended up being with bribery or reason was of little import.]

Should you have been tutoring me in this, too? It's rather late to start now.

[They are not even weeks away from their departure at this point, and Liem will hardly have the time to play games during much of the interim. Even now, as he takes a moment to consider Cardan's riddle, its meaning eludes him. His answer is bound to be nothing more than a blind guess.]

Very well; you will have your wager. I'll guess… spades.

[ For a moment, Cardan only watches him, his expression deliberately inscrutable. Liem's criticism of his teaching is not unwarranted; it's just that in the busyness of every other preparation, it had not occurred to him to test his husband on this until now.

But then, they were always going to be underprepared. He does not show Liem the card; instead, he places it down on the rug beside them, careful not to reveal its face. ]

Why spades, Liem?

[ Evidently, he does expect Liem to show his work. Still, he won't wait for the reasoning; his mouth dips again immediately, finding the hollow of Liem's throat. He'll decorate the delicate skin there with warm, unhurried kisses while his hands busy themselves with the buttons of Liem's waistcoat.

Sometimes he rues the Ironside fashion of too many layers and fastenings. ]

[In the moment between Cardan's question and the warm caress of his lips at Liem's throat, Liem's brows draw together in a faint scowl. He had not expected his husband to quiz him on this. If he is intending to take his job as riddle tutor seriously, he has chosen an inopportune time for it.

And yet, Liem cannot be cross when Cardan's mouth lingers warm against his neck. He tips his head back against the rug with a sigh, directing his gaze up at the study's ceiling.]

Why not Cardan?

[This wager is not like the last that Cardan proposed. Liem had at least had some way of guessing which way his husband might try to stack the deck; had he been picky about the terms, he could have likely won a few more forfeits off him even with his run of aces and kings. But Liem has no insight into this game; Cardan's riddle remains inscrutable to him.

It is not becoming any clearer to him now that Cardan is paying his throat such close attention. Beneath him, Liem moves his hips restlessly. His hand strays, aimless, over the lattice of scars on his back.]

There is no reason. I did not understand your riddle when I agreed to your wager, and I still do not.

[ Cardan's soft scoff catches against Liem's collar, stymied as it is by the shivery pleasure of the caress at his back, and then-- the heated, insistent curl of desire when his husband moves beneath him. He exhales again, slowly, but his measured tone will not change, even if Liem's impatience proves rather distracting.

He had taken two cards from the deck before they had left the bar, for reasons that had been largely sentimental. Now, he reaches into his pocket for the other one. ]

Spades, [ he will say, deliberately placing the second card -- the jack of spades, face up -- beside the first, ] is rather more my suit than yours.

[ He doesn't offer further explanation of this concept immediately, focused as he is on finishing with Liem's (finely made, attractive, and extremely annoying) waistcoat. Once that is done, he will start with the shirt, eager to expose more of his husband to his touch. But he does keep talking -- even though revealing his own puzzle feels a little uncomfortable, like explaining a joke. ]

I said the answer was in my hands, but I only needed one to hold the card. What have I had my hands on this entire evening, Liem?

[ Those hands that now splay against Liem's chest, even as Cardan's mouth smears indulgent kisses over his collarbone, following the trail of exposed skin. ]

[A soft, brief huff of amusement escapes Liem as his husband graciously explains his riddle. How right his first inclination had been, even though he hadn't seriously considered that errant thought relevant to Cardan's question. Perhaps he should have given it a little more attention.

But still — it just hadn't been neat though to satisfy him. Was the card in Cardan's hand only a distraction, then? He isn't willing to discount it as such, and in that vein, he still doesn't understand why a playing card suit might fit Cardan any better than it would him. If understanding the double meaning was meant to clarify anything about the card now resting face-down on the rug, Liem has failed to see it properly.]

The more you explain, [he observes, a little breathless as Cardan's mouth finds his collarbone and his hands splay over his chest,] the less I understand.

[Or perhaps it is that the more of him Cardan kisses, the less he understands. Liem wouldn't discount this possibility at all, although he isn't nearly undressed enough at this point for that to actually pose a significant problem.]

What suit is mine, then?

[ Cardan will glance up, one eyebrow arched, before he reaches out to reveal the first card. ]

The king of clubs, [ he'll recite in the measured rhythm of a lecturer, kisses punctuating his sentences as he works his way down the buttons of Liem's shirt ] is a man of business, loyalty, and ambition. He is wed, and -- in your case -- burdened with maturity beyond his age. And, not least-- [ He'll glance up again; a smile tugs at his mouth just before he presses his lips to Liem's sternum, with not entirely serious reverence. ] --he is almost excruciatingly sensible.

[ The tail, having escaped its prison of shirt thanks to Liem's interference, coils behind Cardan in pleased little loops. He props himself up on his elbows, staring up at his husband's face.

It's rather obvious by now that Liem is no fan of cartomancy, but Cardan would not have expected him to be: it's half magic, half parlour trickery, which puts it squarely in Cardan's domain. ]

It would be a poor riddle if it did you the favour of being straightforward. But it had two answers, and you did not need to know this one to come up with the other.

[ By which he means: Liem should have simply pointed to his suit. ]

[Would that Liem could receive all his lectures in this manner. The deliberate punctuation of Cardan's kisses travelling down his chest guarantees his keen attention — mostly for the pleasant cadence of his voice and the warm caress of his mouth, but Liem succeeds in absorbing what he says nonetheless. He cannot recall having ever been so rapt to receive instruction on anything before.

As Cardan speaks, Liem's eyebrow lifts.]

I did not know playing cards could tell stories.

[Any more than he had known that stars could tell stories. He peers down at Cardan, indulging the temptation to run a thumb along the shell of one pointed ear, and he thinks that for all that his husband often rules his thoughts, he has not been nearly insatiable enough when it comes to discovering things about him. It is, as Cardan said, that stubborn reluctance of his to step on his husband's toes — a reluctance that has only ever seemed to bring him grief.

Much as his desire to play by the rules surely will, regardless of his husband's attempts to cure him of it. He considers, for a moment, Cardan's advice.]

You want me to try harder to get the better of you.

[To be more interested in winning than in playing fair.]

[ Cardan laughs, the sound sharp with the edge of his surprise. It's the only thing that stops him from leaning into that caress of cool fingers at his ear. ]

Of me? Of course not.

[ No, he wants Liem to fall head over heels for every trick Cardan plays. If there are faeries who prefer a fight where the stakes aren't weighted in their favour, he doesn't know them. Probably because no faerie that stupid could possibly survive in Elfhame.

He exhales with a sigh; his hands find their way back to Liem's chest, restless as he sweeps both shirt and waistcoat fully open. ]

I want you to understand that we fey live and die by our words.

[ The hands travel back down to Liem's hips, and Cardan's intent stare is obscured by the fall of his hair as his lips follow in their lead. His hot breath brushes over Liem's abs, along with his warnings. ]

That we seldom speak the truth so much as a truth.

[ He'll look up, shaking his curls out of his eyes so he can lock his gaze with Liem's again, and there is something predatory in his lean, hungry stare. ]

And that you should listen carefully if you don't wish to be devoured.

[ His hands have not been idle in their quest to reveal more skin; they had already undone the fly of Liem's trousers, and now they push the fabric down his hips. He holds Liem's gaze for one moment longer, and then tilts his face down, eyelashes coming to rest on his cheeks.

He wants him. He wants Liem's taste, wants the pleasing, heavy weight of him on his tongue, wants those cool hands in his hair. Besides, it's instructive.

Cardan elects to drive the point home by swallowing him up all at once, with little warning and no preamble, just the heat of his mouth and the thrum of his insistent, wanting pulse. ]

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