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I love me some gen threads, especially funny or drama-filled ones, but I am also shamelessly here for shipping AUs. The general Liem-shipping vibe is "I want more than this, but I shouldn't & they can't possibly want me back," so if you're into that, I've got what you need. His default setting is very D&D-like high fantasy, but I'm comfortable playing him in modern fantasy settings as well. Pretty much any prompt can also accommodate Liem being a full vampire instead of a dhampir, if that's your thing.

Prompts for inspiration:
• Arranged Marriage: Liem's shady vampire family has arranged his marriage to you, but he seems a rather reluctant fiance.
• Bodyguard Shipping: It's Liem's duty to keep you safe and out of trouble, possibly despite your best efforts.
• Companion to Royalty: Reclusive vampire king Liem and YOU! Are you a gift from a local power? Sacrifice from the townsfolk? Or did you just stumble up the road to his castle during a storm?
• Enemies to Lovers: Maybe Liem is a foreign agent trying to sabotage your country or organization. Or maybe you're rebelling against the current regime and he's trying to take you in.
• Fake Dating/Fake Married: A relationship is your cover story while you're travelling for some secret reason. Gotta keep up appearances.
• Hunter & Hunted: Are you a hunter trying to track Liem down? Or a snack that proved more than he bargained for?
• Hurt (Comfort Optional): Whether he's hurt, sick, drugged, or just upset, two things remain constant: Liem needs help, and he doesn't want to accept it. But maybe you don't want to fix him anyway; maybe you want to make him worse.
• Living a Lie: Whether you're undercover on a mission, or you lied to cover something up and now you have to commit, you're stuck playing a role until you accomplish some secret objective — or until you can shake off your nosy company.
• Loss of Control: For whatever reason, one of you is struggling not to go berserk — or perhaps has already failed. If it's Liem, can you help him come back to himself, or are you the one pushing him over the edge?
• Out of the Frying Pan: The classic "tried to help someone in trouble, ended up with a new and possibly worse problem" situation. But at least you're in it together!
• Priest/Celibacy: Default here is that Liem is the priest, but it could go the other way. Smutty, or just laden with UST? You decide.
• Texting: Stupid TFLN-style text threads, my beloved...
• Random Scenario: For if none of the above tickle your fancy.

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[Liem cannot be cross with Cardan when his touch remains so impossible to ignore, and especially when his lips dip down again to press against his skin. He does not see how he has told any riddles for his husband to puzzle over, but by the way his head tips against the plush fur under the attention of his mouth, he is content to forget it until another time, when his mind isn't so immediately occupied.]

Mm. I'm yours to command.

[The murmur is meant to be a little flip, but it comes out too soft and too breathless to seem anything but sincere. And even when Cardan's hand slides between their bodies to wrap around them both, even as Liem's fingers clench and clutch at nothing and his breath catches in his chest, he keeps his arms just where they are, wrists resting just above the tousle of his hair.

This, finally, is just what he'd wanted when he'd brought him here, to this house, to this study. This is what he's wanted almost every time he's had more than a fleeting moment alone with his husband: that sharp, covetous look, that unhesitating demand for more of him — his obedience, his body, whatever he has to give. Cardan had promised to let him worry about restraint, and that is just fine, because Liem doesn't want his husband to be restrained when it comes to him. He wants his demanding touch and his hungry mouth and his intent, unwavering regard.

No matter how much of Cardan's desire he has, he ever remains starved for more.]

I know.

[ He says it with the solemnity of an oath. He can't even be arrogant about it -- not when he's like this, strung taut with need, every sense full of his husband. The conversation recedes into irrelevance; what does it matter that they didn't fuck for a full month when he's about to have Liem all to himself?

He's not patient about it. He'd wanted to be -- wanted to tease, to fuck Liem open and spread him with his fingers until he was pliant and sweet and desperate for Cardan's cock -- and yet. Liem's soft acquiescence has pressed on some wanting, ardent part of him, responsive as a bruise. He permits himself one more luxurious stroke, another-- and then his hand pulls away, clutches at his husband's hip instead. ]

Liem, [ he says, as he withdraws his fingers from inside him. It's not quite warning and not quite question; he only wants Liem to look at him.

But then, he always wants Liem to look at him.

How greedy they both have become. He dips down to bring his face close, arm braced just above Liem's shoulder as his other scrabbles for the vial of oil again, finding it in the plush fur of the rug. ]

[Of course Cardan knows: that Liem is his, that he can ask whatever he likes of him. It should be obvious from the way Liem arches into his stroking, the way he melts against the rug as Cardan works him open, the way his lashes dip heavily and his breath slides unsteadily from his throat. His husband could demand anything he pleased, and he would gladly give it to him, just for a smile or a word of praise.

That should be no secret, while they're like this. But he doesn't stop being Cardan's when they're both properly clothed and busy with other matters, and perhaps Cardan knows that too.

A soft, bereft gasp slips from him, a little surprised, when Cardan pulls free already — and he feels simultaneously like his husband has only just started touching him and like he cannot possibly go another moment without Cardan inside him again. Liem's heavy-lidded gaze lights on him as soon as he hears his name, glittering with fire-light and a hungry excitement as Cardan leans down again to where Liem is stretched obediently against the rug. Despite every temptation to act to the contrary, he leaves his wrists where they are, and simply tips his face up to ghost his lips against the corner of Cardan's mouth.

A little impatiently, he breathes,] I want to touch you.

[ He looks-- Cardan sucks in a breath, caught a little off guard by him. Liem is so lovely like this, with his usually neat hair tousled and the flickering light warm on his skin, but it's the look he gives Cardan -- that hungry, wanting stare -- that makes need flare hot inside him. It makes his heart pound with his impatience all over again; it makes him want to tell Liem all the soft, fragile things he shouldn't speak out loud.

And still, a smile flickers on his face, impossible to contain. ]

You are touching me.

[ After all, are they not chest-to-chest, but a breath apart from each other? Are Liem's lips not whispering over his skin? For just another moment, Cardan stays there, watching him, drawing out the tease just one moment longer.

Then he shifts, oil-slick hand sliding up Liem's leg so he can position himself between his thighs, his cock slick with the oil, pressed against him -- but not in, not yet. His eyes search Liem's face; he doesn't move. ]

Be specific, Liem.

[ And if affection curls around the words, if it ruins a little of his stern taskmaster tone, so be it. ]

[Amusement and frustration war in Liem as Cardan smiles down at him, poised on the very edge of giving him what they both want. He can feel the heat of the body stretched over his, tempting him to arch up from the rug, to slide his arms about his husband and fit himself against him more fully. The oil-slick slide of the hand up his thigh sends a shiver of want racing down his spine, spiking low in his belly as Cardan presses against his entrance.

He wants more of his husband — wants his cock inside him, wants the press of his body and the slide of his hands and the hungry heat of his mouth. When Cardan makes him wait, impatience twitches his brows together — but the absence aching through him is shadowed by a helpless affection, softening his groan into a sigh.]

I want to touch more of you, you pedant.

[Despite himself, he's caught by the intent look that Cardan drags over him. It makes answering him with any sophistication challenging, occupied as he is with the temptation to take Cardan's face in his hands and kiss him until he's left gasping. Even that wouldn't unsteady him as much as having to weather that regard, which makes him feel like his chest has been cracked open and laid bare for his perusal.

His wrists shift against the soft fur beneath him, restless, almost desperate.]

I want to touch you with my hands. I want to hold onto you. I want to have you.

[ He laughs again, unreservedly delighted at the ire he's coaxed out of his oh-so-patient spouse. He likes Liem like this -- likes that, even though he's cross with Cardan, he has not moved, hasn't relinquished his adherence to the rules of the game. Never would he have expected his stiffly formal groom to be so permissive of Cardan's mischief.

It looks dazzlingly good on him, that frustrated self-discipline. ]

More of me than you already command?

[ He doesn't wait for an answer. The hand on Liem's thigh tightens; Cardan's hips shift as he finally, finally presses inside him. For a few breaths, all thoughts flee his head entirely, drowned out by tightness, by friction, by the pleasure of having all of Liem. Suddenly he, too, is hungry to have those cool hands on him, soothing his overheated skin. He swallows hard, his breathing ragged against Liem's jaw; his eyes cannot help but slip shut.

When he can look at his husband again, the smile is gone. In its place is a desire he feels is too obvious, too earnest and naked, and yet-- ]

Touch me, then.

[ It's not permission so much as demand. ]

And you may have whatever you wish of me.

[There is likely no degree of vexation that could make Liem fail to appreciate the laugh he coaxes from his husband, even if it is a little bit at his own expense. Delight just looks so good on him, like moonlight breaking through cloud cover — especially because, of late, he has had so little time to delight Cardan as he would like. And in their day to day, which has proven so fatiguing to his spouse, there is little to be delighted by.

And still, even in the midst of this moment they have stolen for themselves, he is greedy for more. Of course the answer to his husband's question could only ever be yes.

But even that is driven from his thoughts by Cardan finally pressing into him, the hard heat of him making Liem's eyes flicker wide and his breath catch in his throat. The instruction keeping his wrists above his head suddenly seems beyond intolerable; it is not enough to simply have Cardan atop him as he fucks him open. The need to hold him claws its way out of him like an animal.

Liem's hands find their way to him before he has even finished speaking: running over his shoulders, curling in his hair. He finds his breath again, brushes it in unsteady murmurs against Cardan's skin, in between kisses to his mouth, to the line of his jaw. It is all he can do, drowned as he is in him.]

This, Cardan. Just this.

[ Liem is right: it is just this. It's the touch of familiar hands in his hair; it's Liem's mouth, gentle and restless against his; it's the way he looks when Cardan slides inside him, as if he'd done something astonishing. When Cardan moves in Liem, it's less choice and more compulsion, a pull so inexorable he could not have stopped it any more than he could have stopped breathing.

It's a good thing Liem's hands are in his hair; if they hadn't been, if they had still been crossed above his head, Cardan would have wanted to twine his fingers through Liem's. Instead, they curl in the soft fur of the rug, restless.

He doesn't hurry. He doesn't want to hurry -- he intends to press Liem into the soft rug and feel the entire gorgeous landscape of his body beneath his own, and he wants to fuck him into said rug so achingly slow and deliberate as to drive both of them a little insane. He wants to stretch this moment out-- as if making it last will forestall the forward march of time and the relentless rise of the sun in the sky. For the first time in what feels like ever, Cardan feels something akin to lucky. To be here, warm and safe and luxuriant, to have every nerve in his body singing with pleasure, to have Liem look like that, feel like that-- it is more luck than his cruddy deeds have earned him, certainly.

But he'll take it anyway. He'll take it fiercely, and he'll hold on for as long as he can, selfishly and without remorse. ]

[The heat of Cardan's body fitted against his is ever a balm to Liem's frayed, taut nerves. He yields to him with a sigh, submitting to the caress of his mouth and the slow, luxurious friction of Cardan moving inside him. Like a summer storm, warm and vibrant and capricious, he saturates his senses — and Liem steeps himself in him readily, letting Cardan press him into the rug and have him one deliberate, unhurried stroke at a time.

It is sweet torture to draw this out slowly for once. He cannot entirely restrain the restlessness of his hips moving against him, or the soft, aching murmurs of his want, pressed against the elegant column of Cardan's throat. Cool fingers caress the nape of his neck; a gentle hand smooths covetously over his back. But Liem does not beg him to hurry, because as much as he craves the feverish heat of Cardan's desire, he does not want their intimacy to end, and be claimed again by the necessities that rule the rest of their waking hours.

He is not done holding his husband, or pressing those lingering kisses against his skin. He is not ready to relinquish the only sweet thing he has found time to indulge with Cardan in weeks of living with him. Because his husband so clearly wants for tenderness, and he so wishes to give it to him.]

[ For once, Cardan does not flinch from Liem's gentle touch; for once, the strange, awkward tension doesn't coil in his belly or shiver up his spine at the slide of those careful hands, at the soft mouth on his throat. He only sighs into it, quiet and wanting, and rolls his hips to meet Liem's impatience. Desire sings through him, builds until he feels full of it, like he's breathing it out with each stroke. He has to turn his face, to lean down and kiss Liem properly, thoroughly-- and it is difficult to be patient, just then, with his husband pressed so close against and around him, the silken clutch of his body teasing at Cardan's resolve. ]

Liem, [ he says again, just to say it, voice a little breathless and rough from wanting. And if his hand slides between their bodies, if slick fingers wrap around Liem again, it is only because his husband looks so pretty when he arches back against the plush fur. It's only because Cardan feels compelled to chase Liem's pleasure far more ardently than he ever chased his own. It fascinates him each time his so-collected spouse comes undone, so easy and pliant against Cardan's hands. He's jealous of every lover who has seen Liem thus; as ever, Cardan wants all of his things to be only his own. As always, he is greedy in his desire.

But Liem doesn't have to know these things about him. He doesn't have to know how desperate Cardan has become for his attention, how difficult it would be to give it up again. If they're very lucky, perhaps he'll never find out. ]

[Something about the soft breath that sighs from Cardan at the touch of Liem's hands quickens a quiet ache in his chest. It recalls him to the feel of raven-black hair beneath his fingers, and Cardan leaning into his idle stroking as they gazed together at early-autumn stars. It feels seductively like ease — like trust. For all that he wouldn't know what to do with Cardan's trust if he had it, the feeling sinks roots of want into him nonetheless.

What he does do is meet Cardan's kiss with barely leashed impatience, the demanding edge of his hunger tempered with sweetness. The sound of his name on Cardan's lips sends a pang of longing down his spine, makes his arm tighten around him, keeping him close as he kisses him again, and then again. He shudders against him, want escaping his throat on the soft edge of a whine, when slick fingers find him to slide along his cock. With each twinned stroke need for his husband fills him up, until he's wire-taut and gasping with it, until he can't think of anything else.]

Cardan—

[It slips out, breathlessly, as he tips his head back against the plush fur, low-lidded eyes caught by Cardan's black ones. The heat stoked in him feels enough to set him ablaze, enough to melt him into the rug spread out beneath them. He doesn't quite know how it hasn't driven him mad.]

I know, [ he breathes, and it feels like he does. Like there is something about Liem that he can parse only like this, only when they're both poised on this keen, impossibly sharp edge of need and aching tenderness. Like a secret language he forgets every time they're not bare and moving against each other in desperate cohort, when he's not soaked in pleasure so intense, he forgets to be remote. ]

I know, [ he says again, because the look in Liem's pale eyes shivers through him, leaves him breathless and stupid with wanting. He wants so many things at once: wants to pin him down under the assault of his mouth and his hands and the heavy, indulgent press of his cock; wants to bury himself in Liem and simply stay, nestled close, feeling the flutter of his irregular breaths, keeping them both teetering on the blade's edge of their desire. He wants, and he wants, and he wants, with no end in sight for his terrible longing. ]

You turn me into such an unreasonable creature, [ he tells Liem with the solemnity of a sacred confession, before kissing him again. And his hands stay gentle; and the rhythm of his hips stays slow, steady, torturously tender, because it is about time that Liem knows the taste of what he so often inflicts on Cardan. ]

[Liem doesn't know how he's meant to weather Cardan when he's like this. He doesn't know how he's meant to withstand the solemn, breathless voice, or the gentle hands, or the slow and measured slide of Cardan's body against his, and still remember that their marriage is only one of convenience. His senses are so full of him, and his thoughts so empty of anything else. He needs him with a desperation made more all-consuming by Cardan's absolute refusal to give in to haste.]

Cardan, [he murmurs again, helplessly urgent. Pleasure makes his every nerve sing as he moves beneath his husband, back bowing against the rug in answer to slow, indulgent strokes. His clutching fingers leave stark lines against Cardan's back and shoulders as he tries not to simply crumble entirely.

Never in his life has he wanted anyone's touch so much, or been so tormented by receiving precisely what he desired.]

Oh—

[He breathes it between achingly soft kisses that belie the feral need in his grip. No thought remains in him for being clever, or wise, or even coherent. He simply wants, with an intensity that leaves no room for anything else.]

Oh, I can't. Cardan, please—

[ The searing stroke of Liem’s fingers rolls through him like thunder; he doesn’t expect it, isn’t prepared for it, and the assault of sharp pleasure nearly undoes him entirely. Cardan’s knuckles go white where his hand is braced against the rug; his breath stutters, as does his rhythm. For an aching moment, he stills entirely.

His mouth finds Liem’s throat, slides along the pale column of it, pressing heated kisses to cool skin. ]

Demanding, [ he’ll accuse, with a fondness that belies his teasing, ] and impatient.

[ The demanding, impatient man will find Cardan’s hand sliding down his thigh, fingers curling close to his knee so Cardan can urge him to bend it up, shifting the angle of his hips in a way that makes Cardan shiver and take in a desperate breath, his forehead pressing against Liem’s. ]

…and mine, [ he breathes, shamelessly greedy, before his hips pull back to thrust inside his husband with driven, hard force. If this is what Liem wants, if this is what he’s asking for, then he can have it — Cardan having him, claiming him with all of his savage longing and selfish possessiveness. ]

[A low, needy sound slips from Liem as Cardan pauses his rhythm entirely to trail a line of kisses along his throat, each one a bloom of heated pleasure on oversensitized skin. His husband has a talent for dredging need up from the very depths of him, making him wild with it, until he's beside himself with want for Cardan's hands and Cardan's body, Cardan's mouth, Cardan's cock — but he has not often had the patience to torment Liem with it, and never so sweetly and so gently. Liem's hands on his husband are restless as they roam his back, slide up to plunge again into his hair. His breaths, as he tips his head to accommodate Cardan's mouth, drag heavily in his throat.

He cannot deny a single one of Cardan's accusations — not when he wants so fiercely, and feels so incapable of even pretending otherwise. Liem moves pliantly under his direction, shifting his hips against him with a soft, eager breath. And when his spouse fucks into him again, hard and unrepentantly greedy, the force of Liem's pleasure and his desperate relief makes his fingers tighten urgently in Cardan's hair.]

Yes, [he gasps, clutching Cardan close as he rolls his hips to meet his thrust. He has to dig his teeth into his lip, not just to muffle the moan that threatens to spill from him, but to keep the soft, foolish things that want to spill out with it to himself. Because he has never felt so soft and foolish as he does now, wrapped around Cardan as a warm and tender bliss fills him up stroke by stroke, claiming every inch of him and pushing him ruthlessly closer to his climax.]

[ He doesn't know what Liem is assenting to -- probably the newly voracious tempo of Cardan's fucking, and not the things he said. It doesn't matter. It's not like he needs Liem to confirm what he knows: Cardan's husband is his, for better or for worse, no matter how pragmatic their marriage nor how bloodless their vows. Even if it is selfish for Cardan to claim him -- he has, he does, each time he moves in him, pressing into the tight grip of his body, chasing the pleasure that clutches at them both. Cardan claims him with his hands and with his mouth and with his cock, relentlessly, breathless with avarice.

He doesn't question why he should want this. Even if he were interested in that kind of introspection, he's too caught up in Liem's touch and in his taste, in the way the firelight paints softness over his features. The restless fingers winding in his hair make him shiver, hard, and it's all he can do to watch Liem as they rock closer to the edge of absolute need, breathlessly entwined.

Something in his chest clutches jealously at the press of sharp teeth against Liem's lip, and he doesn't question that, either. And soon enough, it doesn't matter-- soon enough, all he knows is the relentless, overwhelming pleasure that builds and builds and builds until he can only let it crash over him, and hope he takes Liem with him. ]

[Left gasping by the change in Cardan's rhythm, Liem is thrust headlong into the relentlessly overfilled well of his own pleasure, drowned in the slide of their bodies and the brush of hot breath against his skin. He lacks room for all the tender, aching wants that Cardan has stirred up inside him; they build up atop each other until he feels frantic with them, until the pressure of his pleasure and his desire eclipses everything else, and he can only arch back against the rug as his climax overtakes him, his husband's name spilling thoughtlessly, fervently from his lips.

For one long, bright moment, the world narrows to just the heat and friction of Cardan's body, and himself wrapped covetously around him. He cares only for warm, damp skin and dark curls and the bewitching face that is already stamped into his mind's eye, to haunt him even when Cardan is elsewhere. His palm slides from his husband's hair to cup his cheek instead, as he tips his face to steal another breathless kiss.

It takes a while more for him to recall trivial things like their location on his study floor, or the encroaching presence of dawn, or how to construct complex sentences. But fortunately they are in no hurry, and he has the pleasure of Cardan draped over him while he regains his faculties, one by one. He is content in the glow of the fire and the warm, comfortable feeling that settles heavily over him in the wake of their lovemaking, overlaid with that tender affection that remains stubbornly rooted in his chest no matter how soundly his body's wants are satisfied.

It is bewildering and exasperating all at once — or will be, once he locates the part of him that recalls how to be vexed with things. But still.]

Never have I enjoyed such sweet torment, [he murmurs, tracing his thumb idly over Cardan's cheekbone,] as at your merry hands.

[ He recalls the heat of it, later; heat, and the sound of his name, and the graceful arch of Liem's body into his, and his own savage need-- and then he is lost, wild and unfettered for a glorious moment as cool lips quench the heat rising off of his skin. It surprises him each time, just how much he's capable of wanting; he's frightened that one day he'll tell Liem all about it, give himself up willingly to whatever whims his husband might have for his desire.

But not so today.

In the after, while catching his breath, Cardan performs his usual trick of melting in place against Liem's chest, sprawled luxuriously over him before the fire. He feels like a lizard sunning himself against the heat, and the occasional shiver that overtakes him is but a testament to the aftermath of his pleasure.

He is close to slipping into slumber when the quiet rumble of Liem's voice pulls him back. Cardan turns his face from where he'd tucked it against Liem's shoulder, eyes opening to black slivers. He observes him, framed by soft shadows and post-coital glow, and has to fight a sudden urge to say something embarrassing about Liem's beauty (which he is surely not unaware of) or the strange fascination he provokes in Cardan's hitherto shrivelled-up heart.

Instead, his eyebrow quirks. ]

Only my hands, Liem? There is so much of me that delights in tormenting you.

[ An absolutely normal thing to admit to. He tilts his face to nuzzle into Liem's hand like a sleepy cat demanding to be petted. ]

Though I am pleased to be the wickedest of your lovers.

[ That's not what Liem said, but Cardan assumes it is true, anyway. ]

[Liem doesn't quite understand how his husband, who in motion is so breathtaking with poise and mischief and menace, evokes from him such endearment whenever he is at rest. The contentment he gleans from simply lying with him in the fire's glow, wrapped around him while Cardan melts against his chest, unsettles him with its immediate, drugging intensity. Of late, doing so has invited fragile little wants to take up residence next to his heart, and he's afraid that one day they'll grow to consume every part of him.

And still, when his husband turns to nuzzle into his touch, he can only surrender to the ache in his chest as his fingers wander Cardan's skin to caress the shell of his ear. Fond amusement lifts the corners of his mouth as he regards him.]

I can tell.

[Enigma though Cardan can sometimes be, the delight he takes in menacing his husband has ever been plain. But Liem is hardly alone in receiving this dubious honour; it's not like Cardan refrains from menacing the other vampires he crosses paths with. Liem just happens to be the one he's married to.

Which is just everyone else's loss, really, as Liem isn't inclined to share.]

You wear everything well, including your villainy.

[ Somehow, despite feeling thoroughly boneless, Cardan manages to prop himself up on an elbow so that he can look at Liem more fully. His gaze sweeps his husband’s profile, noting the way the firelight caresses the elegant line of his cheekbone, his throat. He raises his hand to run light fingertips over the curve of Liem’s mouth. He looks alarmingly attractive like this, with his hair a little wild, framed by the luxuriant rug.

Cardan thinks his husband could stand to be nude and draped in opulence more often.

His grin is warm, unencumbered by worry or the need for his usual sharp edges. He’s going to echo a question Liem had posed earlier in the night. ]

Is that what you find most alluring about me?

[ Well, he still has one forfeit left to demand from Liem, if they play by the rules of the previous game. And even if they didn’t, Cardan is curious. Out of all the people who might celebrate his wickedness, his husband always seems the most unexpected. ]

[The look that Liem directs up at his husband is easy and warm and inquisitive, comfortable with the slide of dark eyes and warm fingertips over his features. For all that he hasn't always understood Cardan well, being intimate like this feels… uncomplicated. The tangles and thorns of their marriage seem to recede into insignificance when they are bare and wrapped around each other, murmuring conversation across a single breath of distance.

If Liem didn't know better, he might almost think Cardan was actually content to simply be his husband, here in his home, in his father's unmagical domain.]

Hm.

[His fingers find Cardan's wrist, his hand, holds it so he can press unhurried kisses to his fingertips and palm. Pensively. His lips wander down to the pulse inside his wrist, and linger there — but his eyes find Cardan's again as he considers.

It is certainly no secret that Liem finds his husband's mean streak exciting. That has been clear from the very first night Cardan touched him, on that hill in the forest. But is it the most exciting? The most irresistible thing about him?]

No, [he decides, cupping his husband's hand against his cheek.] I think the most alluring thing is the smile you wear sometimes, when something unexpected has delighted you. It looks very handsome on you — moon-bright and a little wild, like the deep woods. And I do not see you wear it as often as I would like, so it is always a pleasure to glimpse.

[ The pulse hastens under the soft caress of Liem's mouth. Cardan lets that considering gaze pierce through him, drawn up with a pleasant tension. Over the past several months, he has found that getting Liem like this -- relaxed and unhurried, tangled with Cardan as if he has not a deadline worth worrying about in this world -- makes it difficult to pull away, even to rest. Already he wants to press closer and kiss Liem's serious mouth, tease the tip of his tongue over the sharp fangs, pull impatience back into the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

But then Liem answers him, and Cardan blinks in surprise. He doesn't flush -- no self-respecting prince of Faerie flushes at a compliment -- but the smile that curls at the corners of his mouth is pleased and not entirely under his control.

His tail curls over Liem's side, somehow smug, even as Cardan leans close to murmur, ] If you're not careful, husband, someone might take you for a romantic.

[ Not Cardan, surely. Cardan is going to be busy kissing him, and he doesn't bother making it anything but soft and slow and tender, dangerously indulgent. And if he feels the flutter of some unnameable anxiety in his belly, he pays it no mind. ]

[The idea that Liem might secretly be a romantic makes mild amusement lift one of his brows, in the brief moment before Cardan's lips find his. If something as simple as liking his husband's smile makes Liem a romantic, what does that say about his wicked husband, who is certainly not immune to the whims of sentiment? He doubts Cardan is ready to accept that moniker also.

No — surely it is the most normal thing in the world to find his husband particularly beautiful in the moments when he is alight with joy. Anyone with eyes would be forced to agree with him.

But silly ideas like that fade to irrelevance under the tender assault of Cardan's mouth, and he turns his attention once more to the far more worthy occupation of thoroughly kissing any fanciful thoughts right out of his husband's head.

Eventually, winter's feeble sun will chase them into sleep, and once their business in town is concluded, there's nothing else to do but return to the main house in order to ready themselves finally for their voyage. Ostensibly the purpose of the trip is simply to visit Cardan's family and home, though Liem doesn't bother disguising his curiosity about Elfhame's markets and politics from his father. If anything, the absence of such would be more suspicious — and he is interested to note which names his father sees fit to mention to him before they part ways.

Then comes a brief trip to the coast, to enjoy the overday hospitality of a rather wizened-looking baronet, before the part of the journey that Liem has been dreading most: an interminable, hours-long flight over the sea itself, which Liem has never before seen from any angle but the shore. It is only at this rather last-minute point that he bothers to mention his aversion to the ocean to his husband, but if Cardan has detected any tension in his spouse as they prepared for this leg of the journey, perhaps this explains it. Liem more resembles now the grave, terminally serious man who attended their wedding than he has for weeks previous, and he is not likely to emerge from under his cloak of sobriety until probably long after they've touched back down onto solid land.]

[ On one hand, they must cross the ocean regardless, whether it be by boat or by mount. The only way to truly avoid it is not to go, which would have been an option, had his husband thought to mention his deathly weakness to ocean water.

Which is precisely the thing that's on the other hand.

Ultimately, the only thing that stops Cardan from channelling his disbelief into an argument is the tense, bitten-down way Liem looks. Somehow, he doesn't think that bickering will provide a sufficient distraction to this kind of anxiety, and they have a long way to go in less than companionable silence. ]

You should have told me, [ is all he says, in the end, and tells himself that it's silly to feel anything other than annoyance about this.

He busies himself with raising the ragwort horses, having collected some stalks of the plant before arriving at the ocean's edge. Now, he blows on each one, murmurs the incantation, and throws them onto the ground. Out of the sand rise three yellow ponies with eerily verdant green eyes and manes that resemble the lacy leaves of ragwort; unlike the beautiful faerie horses back at the estate, these steeds are gaunt and sickly-looking, though they behave otherwise as real horses might.

Then the only thing left is to strap their luggage to the pack horse, mount the steeds, and ride. Cardan eschews saddle and reins; it's not like a horse made from plant will disobey him. They climb quickly into the sky at his command, propelled into the air by no visible force. He takes a moment to take in the familiar seascape -- the waves lapping against the rapidly disappearing shore, the blackness of the water beneath them, the familiar saline smell on the wind. It's surprisingly nostalgic; he had not thought he would miss it.

The next several hours are spent trying to entertain his grey-faced spouse. If Liem's lack of enthusiasm cows Cardan, he does not show so. And, after all, is there any better time to enrich his husband's knowledge of the kingdom they are overlooking? He details the Undersea queen's many glorious conquests and the strange beauty of the palace under the ocean. He retells tales of mermaids who'd fallen for sailors, usually to one or the other's demise. The fact it helps distract him from how close to frozen his toes are is not unwelcome.

He's halfway through an epic poem about the vanquishing of some sea serpent when the ever-shifting isles of Elfhame come into view. Rather: there is an odd shimmering in the distance -- something that looks like a mirage, or maybe like fog, or maybe nothing at all. As they get closer, the picture will clear, as if someone had wiped clean a smeared window pane: a large island shaped like a half-moon, with a smaller one completing the circle on the other side, and a much smaller isle in their midst.

Insmire, Insweal, and Insmoor. Cardan names them, pointing at each.

They will hit Insmire's rocky, volcanic shore within ten minutes. The ragwort steeds touch down lightly, their hooves nimble on shimmering black sand. Cardan raises his face to the sky, sensing a million things on the breeze -- the aromatic smoke of bonfires, sweet tree sap and brine, discordant music and distant screams. He had not exaggerated when he described Faerie as more: even in the moonlight, every colour is brighter, every shadow deeper, every scent overwhelmingly heady. It makes Ironside feel like a distant, anemic dream.

He will take a deep breath and then turn to his husband, his expression more shuttered than it was before. ]

Welcome to the Isle of Might.

Edited (cAPITALIZATION) 2023-04-28 23:56 (UTC)

[Liem is stubbornly unflinching in the face of Cardan's disbelief, betraying neither regret for his silence nor fear for the prospect of being swallowed by the black water stretching endlessly into the horizon. He is beyond nervousness at this point, draped in the forbidding, impassive mantle he wears when he has already dedicated himself to doing something he knows he's going to hate.

There is no realistic way that he can fulfill his promise to Cardan without ever visiting Elfhame itself, even if doing so might be somewhat more dangerous for him than his husband had anticipated — so he sees no point in agonizing over it. His incompatibility with the sea will not matter if he never has to contact the water, in any case.

His pride does not, however, prevent him from requiring his horse to be saddled before he mounts it. The animals that Cardan conjures are strange, poor-looking specimens, and he does not relish the prospect of perching upon his pony's gaunt back for the next several hours with nothing but its weedy-looking mane to hold onto. And besides, he is not of the fair folk; his husband may feel at ease riding forest creatures with neither bit nor bridle, but to Liem, the trappings of civilization are most natural.

So he mounts his saddled plant-pony, and for hours thereafter he listens to Cardan's voice as they let the steeds carry them across the sea. Even were he less tightly wound, he would be supremely interested in the sagas and tales his husband shares with him about the unseen kingdom stretching below the waves. Given his desperation to avoid contemplating the drop straight down into oblivion, Cardan's voice may as well be heavy with glamour for how caught he is in its cadence. He doesn't even register the shimmering smear of the islands on the horizon until they come suddenly into focus, and Cardan abandons his epic about the sea serpent to name each one in turn.

The sight fills Liem with bone-deep relief, even before they finally reach land. By the time the unshod hooves of their temporary steeds touch down on Insmire's rocky shore, he feels ready to vibrate out of his skin.

But he doesn't. He only gazes around the unfamiliar beach, noting the unseasonal warmth in the calm, richly scented air, and the strange, vivid tapestry of sounds and shapes and colours surrounding them. It reminds him of his husband's taste, in a way; the isle has the same intense, too-vibrant quality about it, for all that it lacks the stinging winds and chill that he might have expected in the dark of winter.

The strange, living quality in the air, punctuated as it is with distant screams and music, rouses the part of him that chafes at the predictability and polish of his tidy life. It makes him ache to sink his teeth into something. It makes him want to hunt.]

It is… alluring, [he decides.] The air tastes different.

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