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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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[Though Cardan has volunteered his assistance multiple times now, Liem continues to be surprised by his husband's evident desire to attend him personally, and he is further plagued by a growing wistfulness at the prospect of having his hands on him in this way more than just once in a while. The smile on Liem's lips turns a little crooked; how impossible to please he is, wishing for more of something he has no business receiving to begin with.]

I would not have dreamed I'd hear my Faerie-prince husband say such a thing.

[It tickles him, particularly as his husband outdoes him in his indulgence in luxury in plenty of areas — though to be sure, it seems bathing is not one of them. Liem tips his head willingly at the press of his hand, his eyes still contentedly closed, and lets Cardan rinse the soap from his hair. It is another slow, unhurried moment before he straightens again.]

And still, I continue to play the insufferable party guest with an allergy to pleasure.

[He has not been particularly wild even by the standards of Eldred's court; he cannot imagine the revellers at Hollow Hall will be impressed.]

And they are wild for it.

[ It's true; nothing could have intrigued the fey of the High Court so much as Liem's aloofness and refusal to indulge. Some of the flightier ones will have undoubtedly dismissed him as a bore, but many more revel in a challenge. He will have enjoyed no shortage of proposals -- of various kinds, ranging from the hideously improper to the coolly businesslike -- every single night since his arrival.

Cardan thinks all of this very funny. Funny -- and oddly gratifying, knowing that, in the end, the only one who gets to be privy to Liem's indulgences is himself. No one else sees his husband's tousled morning hair or his soft, less guarded smiles.

Having Liem be stiffly formal with everyone else has engendered in him an odd possessiveness which he resolutely refuses to examine further.

He will reach for the next bottle, filled with a lotion meant to make hair soft as silk and shiny as spun moonlight. This, too, he applies to his palms first and to Liem's hair second, working it through the strands. ]

Your seneschal would be so proud.

[Liem never would have imagined that somehow, in this faraway land where most people don't even know his father's name, he would manage to enjoy just as much popularity as he ever had in Iago's court — more so, even, thanks to his current novelty. Back home it had been in fashion, among some vampires, to dabble with the same kind of restraint that Liem committed himself to, and indulge in pastimes that were, if not necessarily less indulgent, then at least of the kind that kept one's faculties keen. But it was all show, of course — and like his father, most of those who clove most tightly to the act tended to enjoy the wildest depravities outside of it.

That faeries who likely couldn't care less about his family name, and show no desire to even pretend at restraint would be so beguiled by him truly underlines, to Liem, just how starved for novelty they must have been.]

Perhaps, [he murmurs with dry amusement.] If he could summon the feeling from his shrivelled heart.

[Liem suspects jealousy and disgust would be more likely, mostly because the man would need to care about him to some degree in order to feel pride for his accomplishments, and he's certain that Gusairne has never cared for him even slightly.]

He would hate it here. I don't think he even knows how to enjoy himself.

[ Cardan quirks an eyebrow, considering this. He can imagine Gusairne easily enough, and he can imagine the repulsion on his already sour face all too well. And yet-- ]

I would not be so certain, husband. A man who denies himself is all the more at risk of temptation.

[ Maybe not the dancing, drinking, music-and-revelry kind. But there are things even Gusairne must want, and Cardan does not doubt that every deal maker within several miles would be curious to sniff them out. Men that repressed tend to unwind spectacularly, once they do. They don't merely lose a few dreams, a finger bone, or a few years of their life; they lose memories, names, and entire existences. And once Faerie has sucked them dry, they are left with nothing at all.

He is suddenly acutely aware that the man whose hair he is tending to has more than a casual tendency towards self-denial. ]

...do you hate it here?

[ Another careful press of his fingers, urging Liem forward so he may rinse the treatment from his hair. ]

You've fended off many of our enjoyments yourself.

[Cardan's assessment elicits a dry chuckle from Liem. He is certainly familiar enough with the dangers of temptation, being a man who is in the habit of denying himself desirable things. He does not think the things he might desire most would be offered to him in Elfhame's courts, but that does not mean he lacks any desires that savvy locals might fulfill.

So, perhaps even Gusairne would find what he wished for in Faerie, or else the illusion of it. Liem has been offered all kinds of bargains in the nights he's spent here, and while the more audacious deals didn't interest him in the least, some of them were shrewd enough to give him pause, despite his promise to his husband. It cannot be said that Faerie lacks for variety.

But that is not why he is here. He is a guest at Elfhame's palace only to accompany Cardan, to ensure nobody forgets that he has a husband who demands his presence back in Ironside. For that reason more than any other, he cannot go disappearing into Faerie's markets in pursuit of unwise bargains.

He will tip his head again, allowing Cardan to rinse the lotion from his hair. When that is done, he will lean his head back, until he is looking up at his husband.]

It is beautiful here. I have problems to solve, and my husband's company to monopolize. What further enjoyments have I need for?

[ Cardan laughs, because the prospect of solving problems as enjoyable is so thoroughly alien to Faerie, and so thoroughly like his serious, dutiful husband. The fact he finds it endearing is probably a sign of some tragic malady of the mind.

Luckily, even his self-imposed directive to hurry them along allows him enough leeway to lean forward, his wet hands on Liem’s face, and press his mouth to his in an indulgent, upside—down kiss. A moment later he pulls away, dark-eyed and seductive, to whisper, ]

But imagine all that paperwork you’re missing out on.

[ It would have been more sensual a performance, admittedly, had he not broken into a grin right after.

Anyway, he cannot tarry. He pulls away, reluctantly releasing Liem from his grasp, and rise to slip off the robe. ]

I’ll have to join you in the bath after all, if we are to be on time. Do behave yourself.

[ Because, obviously, it’s Liem who is most at risk of misbehaving. ]

[Liem continues to be unexpectedly delighted whenever, be it with a joke or simply what he imagines to be an ordinary remark, he can make his husband laugh. It makes the awkward way he has to tilt his head back to regard him more than worth it, just to see Cardan laugh like he's said something absurd — and then steal an indulgent little kiss, despite their hurry. Liem reaches up to thread damp fingers through his hair, and when he pulls them away, a clinging pink petal comes with them.]

Ha ha.

[Fondly, he watches for a moment more as his grinning husband pulls away to slide free of his borrowed robe. Liking for problems or no, even Liem would not be so absurd as to pine for his ledgers and correspondences when he is well occupied with his spouse. That he'd need to abandon their bed early each evening and leave his husband in favour of his duties is not one of the things from home that he misses.]

I promise not to tempt you any more than absolutely necessary.

[There is nothing he can do about his nudity, which the bathwater does nothing at all to disguise — nor can he suppress the interest with which he watches Cardan disrobe and join him. But surely he cannot be faulted for admiring his own husband. And, as an inveterate multitasker, this will not at all stop him from reaching for yet another fussy soap so he can finish his own bath.]

[ He slips into the bath with a sigh, revelling in its warmth as he folds himself into the water -- and under it, so that the rest of the petals and glitters can disperse from him -- most of them, anyway. The remainder he will deal with once he sits back up, curls flattened and plastered to his face.

He grins at Liem some more, leg idly brushing against his husband's, and tries not to spend too much time considering that the distance between them is so small, that he misses the slippery heat of Liem's moving against him when he fucks him in the bath, and that the last time they did this, it was truly spectacular. He cannot afford to.

When he sighs again, it is a touch sorrowful. ]

Your promises are lies, husband. You are tempting me already.

[ Perhaps his promise was overhasty. The only reason he had even uttered it was because Liem is right: they need to get to Balekin's on time for this to work.

And for that to happen, Cardan needs to get ready. He will, of course, reach for the bar of soap. It's a nice bar: it smells of flowers and herbs, of pine and fresh summer rain. It is less fussy than Liem's little bottles, granted, but it's perfectly sensible as a tool for the job Cardan needs it for. ]

[Perhaps Liem's eyes do linger a moment longer on his husband than they need to, when Cardan slips beneath the water and emerges with his lovely black curls plastered against his skin. Perhaps the brush of his leg against his husband's lasts a little longer than it strictly needs to. It is just that Cardan is also so relentlessly tempting, and the immediacy of his beauty is so much more compelling than any party or obligation, no matter how important.

But at his complaint, Liem wrests his eyes away as a smile flickers over his lips, and he returns his attention reluctantly to his own bathing.]

Surely you cannot expect me to abandon my bath half-finished, [he says reasonably, lathering soap between his palms.] You will find that it is quite necessary after all.

[And although he is most used to letting an attendant do most of the work for him, he will attend the remainder of his bath routine with the same brisk economy of movement with which he does everything else. Even if he does have to frown a little bit at the bar of soap his husband reaches for, and comment innocently:]

One of these nights, when we are less pressed for time, you must let me attend you when you bathe.

Must I? [ retorts Cardan, arch for no reason other than the fact he's sulking. Still, he's watching Liem perform his bath in the same way one would a tightly choreographed dance, and something greedy lives in his gaze. Liem may be Liem, fussy and fastidious and horribly dutiful, but somehow it is those qualities that Cardan has started to find charming, even when they drive him up the wall.

Another symptom of his mystery illness, no doubt.

It goes without question that he inflicts the bar soap lather on his hair; unlike his husband, Cardan defaults to using the same simple routine for his entire body. He had been anointed with soaps and lotions and creams and salves in the past, by overeager courtiers and well-meaning servants alike -- but it never makes a shred of difference, anyway. Three weeks without a bath will leave him smelling much the same as a wash with the finest soap bubbles known to foppish mankind.

Anyway, this is faster, and he wants to finish at the same time Liem does. ]

[Because they have been forced to hurry, and because they are headed to see Balekin of all people, and because he knows that Cardan dislikes being told what to do, Liem is unsurprised by the rather pert reply that he receives to his comment. Especially because he'd spoken it rather more like a statement of fact than a suggestion. He knows all this — and he is decidedly not cowed by it.]

Yes, [he says confidently.] Because I would like to, and because you will enjoy it.

[Two reasons which combine rather excellently in his view, even if they are unfortunately too short on time to pursue such luxuries now. He aims a brief, winning little smile at his husband before he must again rinse yet another soap from his skin — and then, once he is fully clean and gently smelling of summertime, he will finally rise from the bath to dry off in preparation for the night.

He does not bother to retrieve his discarded robe, given that he is going to be dressing in something else shortly enough. But he has his hair yet to attend to — or to let his husband attend to — and so for the sake of not distracting Cardan unduly, he wraps a towel modestly around his waist as he retrieves his shaving things.]

[ Despite Liem's efforts, Cardan's eyes follow him out of the bath, hungry for his body's lean, elegant lines, the tease of water droplets making their way down his chest. It's difficult to pass on the lure of a bath-warmed Liem; the fact that he must do so is just another of Balekin's many crimes. ]

You are saucy tonight, [ he will observe, in the tone of a man who finds this a little suspicious. But he doesn't refute Liem's assertion. After all, has there ever been a time he has not enjoyed his husband's hands on his skin?

He finishes soaping and rinsing himself, concluding with the length and tuft of his tail, which is twitchy even when caught in his fingers. Once that is done, Cardan will rise, getting to the reluctant task of rubbing himself dry. It has ever been his least favourite: he hates both being wet and the effort it takes to dry.

He does shrug on a robe, although this time his own -- because he's often cold these days, a condition even Elfhame's warm clime has failed to remedy. Having tied the robe haphazardly shut, with his hair in a tousled damp mess, he will approach his husband and his tools. ]

Shall we?

[Liem's attention holds steady to his task, and despite the suspicion in his husband's tone, his expression carries only the usual briskness that overtakes him whenever he goes through the motions of preparing for the night. The leather shaving kit he retrieves contains only a few items: shaving soap, a brush and a little bowl, a steel straight razor — and, since Cardan is the one meant to wield it, a pair of gloves. Liem takes only a moment to set these out, sitting the brush in water to soak the bristles. Then, he retrieves a small towel to fold over one shoulder before perching himself alongside.]

I am getting in character, [he says smoothly, without a single care that the Liem Talbott who attends Balekin's party isn't meant to demand things like the opportunity to wash his husband's hair. But he is meant to be fussy and controlling, so by Liem's reckoning a little sauce is permissible, regardless of context.

He is not worried about the prospect of distracting his husband while he wields a sharp blade against his face and throat. Given that the blade is ordinary steel, Cardan would need to do something drastic with it to cause him any real injury. But it isn't just his nigh-indestructibility that lets Liem bare his throat to Cardan with such unconcern. New though his husband may be to the skill, he is certain that Cardan wouldn't be careless with his safety.]

And you, husband, are being so very accommodating.

I am not, [ Cardan will protest, because, by his accounting, he's being bitchy and sullen, which is the correct way to be when he's denied pleasures he's started taking for granted.

Still, he will approach the task at hand with some enthusiasm. Learning how to shave someone has been more challenging than he had anticipated -- more frustrating, too, for a man who had always considered himself good with his hands. Liem doesn't bleed easily, but still-- there is a finesse in controlling the angle of the blade, the pressure and length of the strokes, and it had not come naturally to Cardan.

To his horror, he'd had to practice.

Thankfully, the palace has no shortage of servants; all of them were no doubt gossiping about the prince who had acquired a pervert's taste for shaving unsuspecting victims. Half a dozen or so had served to endear the shape of the straight razor to his hands, and if they bled a little for it, well, the deals they had made with him would surely make the cuts sting less.

He takes his task seriously, at any rate. There is an interesting amount of ceremony to it: first, the hot towel pressed to his husband's face, as Cardan mixes the shaving cream into a froth in the little bowl. Then, after the towel, his careful fingertips -- yet bare -- press to the underside of Liem's jaw, urging him to tip backwards for Cardan to paint the foam onto his whiskers.

It feels oddly intimate. For the first time, he has become a little jealous of the servant who helps Liem with this task each evening back in Ironside. ]

[When first they had made their plans to visit Elfhame, and Liem had realized that he'd need to leave his valet behind, it had not occurred to him to think anything of letting Cardan take over the task of shaving him. He and his husband were both in agreement that this arangement would be preferable to relying on a palace servant to wield the razor, no matter how inconsequential the risk to his safety. He did not care to allow the palace staff any power over him, even if it was just over the details of his visage, and Cardan had not disagreed.

And yet, there is a certain closeness in the sharing of that little nightly ritual, and enjoyment in allowing Cardan to care for him in this way. It took almost no time at all for him to go from apprehension at his husband's unpractised hands to unexpectedly intimate pleasure.

He doesn't think too deeply about the magnetic way Cardan's hands seem to attract his eyes as he works, or the warm and shivering pleasure that travels over his skin at the touch of fingers beneath his jaw. Usually he closes his eyes during this process — but he waits to close them now, watching his husband from beneath lowered lids as he paints the lather over his unshaven skin.]

[ Being watched is always interesting. He is used to it -- in every room, every party, every social event, Cardan naturally expects to be the center of attention. But there is a difference to it here, in this quiet space, with Liem's eyes following his movements. It fills him with odd anticipation -- a pleasant sort of tension that sparks down his spine and makes the tip of his damp tail twitch.

And even though he is meant to be sulking, he cannot help the quirk at the corner of his mouth when his gaze meets Liem's.

Shaving is a slow process, he has discovered -- counter to his nature, which prefers things to be dazzling and flashy. It takes time and exacting attention, and even though he's yet wielding a brush and not a blade, he reins in his impatience, careful to be thorough.

Eventually, though, Liem is sufficiently painted with lather, and he will swap the brush for gloves. He pulls them on, fitting dark leather over long fingers, and plucks the razor from its resting place-- and then rests his knee on the plush cushion of Liem's chair in a move that he is sure none of his attending servants has ever pulled. But it steadies him, as does the hand he curls over Liem's ribs.

Cardan directs his husband to turn his face, takes one deliberate breath, and starts the meticulous process of drawing a sharply honed blade over Liem's skin. ]

[In the brief week that they have spent in Elfhame, Liem has learned to think of shaving as a rather more sensual experience than he ever had back home. He is preoccupied with the look on Cardan's face as he attends his task, with the little hint of a smile that touches his lips when he catches Liem looking at him, with the handsome look of his hands in their slim gloves and his fingers as they take up the razor.

And he is even more preoccupied with his husband's nearness when he leans a knee onto the chair and rests a hand against his ribs. Liem cannot help but notice the scent clinging to his damp skin, cannot help but regard fondly the dark tousle of his hair. As always, having his husband so intimately near, being subject to his touch and his attention, makes Liem wish fervently to pull him closer. Instead, he keeps his hands determinedly to himself, as he promised he would, tilts his head at Cardan's direction, and keeps himself still while the blade draws down his cheek.

It is well, perhaps, that he does not object to a little frustration, since that is to be the order for the evening.]

[ He had thought he knew the planes and angles of Liem's face well. After all, do they not sleep entwined in each other's arms each night, as close as two people can physically be? Has he not kissed that serious mouth countless times, mapped the elegant line of Liem's throat with fleeting bruises? And yet, in the past few days, he has learned to catalogue Liem's face in a new way. Cardan has become intimately familiar with the steep cliff of Liem's cheekbones, with the tricky curve of his chin into his lip, with the angle at which the tender skin of his throat reveals itself to him when his husband tips back his head. He has learned every treacherous curve and contour so well that he could sculpt him out of marble if he had to.

Sometimes he concentrates so much that he forgets to be horny about it.

There is an art to it. He directs Liem's face with gloved fingertips in search of the best angle, of the lightest stroke. Cardan has abandoned his pursuit of speed; he now attempts precision. And if it is pleasing, the way that Liem holds himself still for him, the way he follows the touch of Cardan's hands as if their commands were implicit -- well, that's only natural.

Some time later, he pulls back, wipes the blade on Liem's shoulder towel one last time, and sets it down. His eye on Liem's face is critical.

Of course, this is only the first pass. They have another still to go if his husband is to be as smoothly unwhiskered as possible. ]

[Liem so rarely has the pleasure of seeing his husband like this: focused on naught but his task; pursuing it with deliberate precision that speaks to a patience Cardan rarely bothers to display. Liem has seen him concentrate before, at other times when his husband’s hands are on him — but not entirely wholly, distracted as they ever are with the demands of desire. The purity of his intent now, as he guides the blade lightly over Liem’s skin, seems rare.

It’s a little ironic, then, that while Cardan’s focus narrows to the angle of Liem’s head and the movement of the razor, Liem finds himself increasingly preoccupied with the intent look on his husband’s handsome face, and the way he directs him with no more than the gentle pressure of his fingertips. He has all but forgotten about the party they’re meant to be preparing for; only the memory of Cardan’s promise lingering in the back of his mind keeps him from getting side-tracked altogether.]

Such a pleasure you make my evening routine, Cardan, [he observes once his husband has withdrawn to aim that critical eye his way. It truly is such a handsome look to be on the receiving end of, but of course even if Cardan decided that shaving Liem was his new hobby, he certainly wouldn’t wish to be dragged out of bed to play attendant at the hours that Liem rises when he’s at home.] I will miss this when we’ve returned to the mainland.

[ Even though it is obvious flattery, probably meant to soothe his ruffled feathers and irritated impatience, Cardan cannot help the warm pleasure spreading in his chest at Liem's praise. He seldom has cause to work at something with determination; it seems stupid that something so silly as helping Liem shave should provoke such a sense of accomplishment from him. ]

I am a poor substitute for your valet, [ he counters, quite reasonably, because it's obviously rubbing off, ] at least in this matter.

[ But his hand lingers on Liem's jaw, gloved thumb reaching up to stroke over his cheek. Then Cardan rises, walking over to the tub to soak another towel in hot water. Once more, he will press the hot fabric against Liem's skin to soften, soothe, and wipe away the remaining lather. Once more, he will paint more of the foamy cream onto his husband's handsome jaw.

His mouth curls. ]

But it is satisfying. I am so rarely allowed to tend to you, what with that man's insistence on doing his job.

[ He says job like it's the most preposterous idea he's ever heard of. ]

[Although Cardan calls himself a poor substitute, Liem does not feel at all bereft as his husband strokes his cheek with a gloved hand, or as he repeats the process of soaking a towel for his skin and painting the rough patches with lather. Perhaps Cardan is not as efficient in his efforts as Liem's valet, and perhaps his temper is a little more difficult to navigate. But his hands are careful in their tasks, and Liem's skin thrills a little wherever those gloved fingers brush it.

Cardan may not be an impeccable valet, but he is attentive, and his attention is only for Liem. Nothing else could please him more.]

Don't tell me you lust for the opportunity to do another man's work.

[He teases gently, a murmur that barely stirs his lips. His husband? Feeling envy over the opportunity to do a servant's chore? Liem truly has perverted this Faerie prince with his influence.]

It certainly pleases you to dishevel me. Have you developed a liking for being involved in the whole process?

[ Liem is right: wishing to perform a servant's duties is strange, but he doesn't. What he wants is to touch Liem, always, and to have the peculiar trust inherent in his husband letting him take a blade to his neck, even one so little capable of hurting him.

And perhaps a part of him likes feeling needed.

It would be embarrassing to confess any of these thoughts to Liem, so Cardan doesn't. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, meeting Liem's eyes with a cool gaze that he fervently hopes doesn't give away much. ]

Perhaps I am simply fond of novelty.

[ As all Folk are.

The second shave is no less careful than the first -- more so, perhaps, since this time, he's shaving against the grain. Cardan had never before had cause to consider in how many different directions a man's beard could grow. It is, categorically, too many.

How stupid that even this feels like a secret about Liem that only he knows. Rather -- he and the annoyingly competent valet. ]

[Perhaps, Cardan says. Perhaps novelty is all that draws him to tend to Liem so diligently, even after a week of being his only attendant. After another week or two of this, perhaps Cardan will be eager to return to Liem's home and relinquish his volunteer job to human hands.

Somehow, although Liem doesn't doubt that the novelty will wear thin sooner or later, he can't envision his husband ever being pleased to relinquish him into hands other than his own. The look that Cardan aims his way seems, to him, a little too cool. If he was completely wrong in his supposition, he might have expected Cardan to be a little more arch.

But he is not so cheeky as to continue to tease the man with a blade at his throat — though mainly because Cardan is the one in charge of ensuring that he looks presentable for their outing. So he will allow his husband to go over his jaw once more, to shear away the last traces of stubble so he might be almost as smooth-cheeked as the elves he's meant to be scorning. Patiently — even if his husband is not the only one to want his hands on his spouse.]

[ There will always be something tantalizing in this kind of utilitarian closeness. In some ways, it is not unlike the teasing Cardan had engaged in during their first month of marriage, except that back then his primary purpose had still been to touch. Currently, his primary purpose is ensuring that his husband’s entrance draws him envious glares from other partygoers in attendance. And still, he is keenly aware of the closeness of Liem’s body, of the expanse of bare skin so close to his own. His own breath becomes a meditation, loud in the space between them even as he wipes the last of the shaving cream from Liem’s face and looks him over once more.

He’s perfectly handsome, but then he is always perfectly handsome. Cardan grins, pleased with his work, and cups Liem’s face in gloved hands so that he can press warm lips to his forehead. It’s a strange whim — maybe just an urge to indulge in the warm cocoon of oblivious safety while they’re still here and not en route to Hollow Hall. He doesn’t bother questioning it.

Then he strips off the gloves and applies aftershave, the scent of it curling in the air between them. ]

…the usual for your hair, my lord?

[For a moment, when Cardan grins at him and cups his face in his slim, gloved hands, Liem feels a familiar ache bloom just behind his breastbone, sweet and a little melancholy with longing. The ache only grows stronger at the press of warm lips against his brow, startling his mind empty for a moment as his husband withdraws again.

He is sorely tempted to slide an arm around his waist and tug his husband fully into his lap. More than anything else right now, he wishes they were not bound for yet another of Elfhame's endless parade of revels, so he might instead nuzzle into the crook of Cardan's neck and spend the rest of his evening entertaining no one but him. It is cruel that the parties they attend as a pair are inevitably spent almost entirely solitary, in the company of other people.

His wishes, unfortunately, have to yield to reality. He submits to the application of aftershave — something that truly has no purpose for him except to smell nice. But something of his wants are probably visible in his eyes when he aims a faintly lifted brow Cardan's way.]

You are doing a fine impression of someone intent on seducing me, Cardan.

[He seems to recall that this was the method of choice, just a few months ago.]

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