sterngaze | kenos

[Since he was very young, Liem has never known quite what to do with love. The fleeting love of a sister who vanished from his life; the conditional love of friends with their own human lives to pursue; the skin-deep love of strangers whose beds he’d shared; the spurious love of a father who wanted to keep him like a pet. It sits uneasily within him, fragile and strange, so easily lost or broken. Bewildering in its unexpected presence.

And a little panic-inducing, too. His fingers tighten on Set’s as they sit, and his body curves more firmly against the other man, moulding Liem to his shape. He tucks his face into the crook of neck and shoulder as some rarely-woken, anemic fear moves frantically down his spine and into his stomach. It is not a soft and easy emotion, for him, but one that makes him feel sick and worried, for all that he makes no move to release the god from his grasp.]

You have chosen difficult people to love.

[He doesn’t understand it — why Set would gravitate towards people who would hurt him. Surely he must have had enough of such pain by now.]

[ He was not made for good things, he knows.

In choosing those who are difficult to love, he admits to being difficult to love. There is little difference between him and Liem, in the way they have been loved and come to understand that painful little thing that eludes them. That comes to them in the form of obsession, lies and withheld rewards. ( He loves his son, unconditionally and madly. Anubis has always been the recipient of a love that will kill Set, a love that he would die for gladly, but has chosen to live and suffer to grasp. )

Is it any wonder, he claims to love Liem? Gen? Rudbeckia? The most difficult, painful people he knows. Those who think themselves unworthy, impossible to love.

He leans into Liem, folding the hand that tightens against his between his fingers. Like holding a frantic bird that wants to take flight before it is safe. His face turns, haunted and strained and wishing he had just one more petal. One more piece of Yima's calm, starry blossom to rinse away the storm of his emotions and the madness within his heart. ]

I have. [ Simply admitted, without apology. ] I am also something difficult to love. So, I understand.

[It could so easily be a terrible thing, what Set says to him. Liem can hear the faint whisper of things another man might have said — had said in the past — to a discordantly similar tune, when the god agrees, when he says that he too is one such person.

Only I could love something like you, he might have told him. Only I could understand.

But despite his wickedness and his flaws, Set’s love has never made Liem feel worse. It is valuable, that he simply meets Liem where he is — by force, if he must. Even now, in his rage and his despair, he finds it in himself to just exist with Liem, solid and warm next to him in the quiet of his bedroom.]

Set, [Liem says, his breath muffled slightly against the curve of Set’s neck.] If I gave you something of mine to keep, would you wear it?

[ Closer still, Liem falls. Set wonders if he thinks of the man he mentioned once. His father, who haunts the shadows and dogs his memories and seeks to hold him captive and "love" him after molding him into a shape that is desirable. As if Liem as-is is not desirable, a stern and solemn man who seeks to do well by people even if it means becoming something unclean, unwholesome.

They're a little like one another, he and this man. More different than the same, but he does not relinquish the soft places where he finds Liem's fears and insecurities. He'd rather slip his claws into them and hook so deeply he leaves scars. What he asks from Liem is friendship. It takes no mandated form, and exists only as the spoken agreement: that yes, we are friends / yes, that means all that will come of it. ]

Of course I would.

[ He turns a little further into Liem. Body still primed for motion, forced into tense stillness. Like a stone rooted to the world itself, firm and unmoving, as he slips one hand free of where he cradle's Liem's fingers and slips it across his waist. To pull him in closer, mouth finding the spot high on the corner his forehead. One of the best places to rest one's mouth, to whisper against. A place known, divinely, as the temple. ]

Openly, too, if that would please you.

[If there is any part of Liem’s stoic, diligent persona that is riddled with cracks and weaknesses, it is his desire for connection with other people. He falters so easily when confronted with kindness, with offers of intimate care and understanding. Set’s claws have sunk in deep, and they won’t be slipping back out.

Just like his father’s teeth won’t be slipping out, despite Liem’s horror of the man.

Liem’s response to Set’s answer is to pull his hand gently free of his grasp, so that he can pull a slim golden ring from one of his pale fingers. The rest of his fingers are already entirely bare, given that he was just asleep — but although he saw fit to wear this ring even to bed, the delicate band, studded with chips of garnet, is not one that Liem has worn previously, even as recently as during the Oracle trial.

To one who has a nose for such things, the ring smells faintly of magic.]

Then, will you wear this?

[ He does not expect the thing that Liem hopes he'd wear to be taken from his own hand. The scent of magic soft upon it, unknown in quality but unmistakable, as he takes the thin piece between his fingers and looks at it. For a moment, he turns it over around the tip of his finger, thumb working over the gems curiously. He measures it, and finds that it fits well over the smallest of his fingers — he is a little larger, broader, than Liem.

Without a word, he slips it down to the root of his finger, and crooks it up so that the other man can see where he's placed it. Proof of given word, and evidence that he meant what he said. ]

This is a new piece.

[ He knows Liem likes beautiful things, ornate clothing and accessories. They share an earring pair, one of Set's most thoughtful of gifts to someone else in recent times. ]

[Liem shifts against Set only enough so that he can better see their hands, untucking his face from the warm crook of his shoulder in order to be more present in this moment. He watches quietly as the god completes his own small inspection — confident that Set will not suddenly refuse him, but still seized by a glimmer of pleasure when he sees the god slide the ring onto his smallest finger.

He cannot recall ever seeing Set wear finger jewellery before, but the colour of the stones and the gleam of the gold both suit him well.]

It is new, and old, [he says.] I had one just like it before I left my world behind. It used to sustain me with its magic.

[When he was too ill to eat, and too starved to rest. With it, he had not needed to endure his body’s fitful hunger or the heaviness of exhaustion from his sparse hours of rest — though the craving for blood had never gone away, even after all his other needs had subsided.]

I found this one in Highstorm’s markets — but I don’t actually need it anymore.

[Because he has Set to sustain him instead.]

[ The people of his land wore jewelry in various forms, with various meanings by social station or insular community; the gods wore ornate pieces, exquisite and intricate and often impossibly-crafted. Set had been a man of practical tastes. Plain golden bands, the weight of the broad collar around his throat. Things that served as emblems of his stature, but were understated and doubled as defense. To wear the delicate little ring upon his finger was a first. He would not even begin to imagine common connotations, beyond that it is something Liem saw fit to give to him.

A gift, from him. A bit like a claim, maybe. ( He does not want to misconstrue, does not want to pretend it is something more than it is. But, he thinks back to the afternoon spent burning the dead, to the weight of their suffering in his mind and mirrored on his body and the way Liem had gathered him into his arms and let him cry, shameful and vulnerable in a way divinity should never have been.

Set's generation was painfully human, in so many ways. Even now, as he tries to shed it and be stronger, wiser, better. A evil, wicked god. But a god for people, nonetheless. ) And right now, he is so — there is so much swimming within him. A clear agony, a visceral pain at the reminder of his son's broken life, the fragile clutch of the vow made together. The jars exist because Osiris did that to him. He brings Liem's hand up, to his mouth, holding the curl of his fingers in a way that keeps the ring caught against the light like a statement. ]

And you will be all right, without it? You cannot take it back now, you see.

[

He won't let him. It's too painful to think of things like love and gifts with such simple, yet intense, meaning.

Amidst the pain and wrath, he feels something that aches — hollowly, like a space that had rotted long ago being coaxed to remembrance. ]

[There is always a part of Liem that hesitates to give anything of his to another, worrying that they will find it undesirable or unworthy. To him, this ring represents a bulwark between him and the misery of keeping his body fed and rested when it only wished to reject attempts at care — but what does it represent to Set? Just a gift from Liem’s hands to his, which makes it all the more frightening. He cannot pretend such a thing could be refused on any merits but his own.

That is why, when Set says you cannot take it back … it’s not just pleasure that sweeps through him, but relief. To Set, at least, he continues to be a desired thing, coveted against all reason. Liem leans into the god and watches him in satisfaction as Set presses his lips against his hand.]

I do not need it. I propped myself up for over a century without the benefit of such magic; and now, I may lean upon you instead.

Over a century?

[ That is — a period of one hundred years, as he recalls.

Time is a difficult thing for him to keep track of, to be fair. Even in Kenos, where he is bound more to the ebb and flow of linear progress, his mind cannot grasp it without feeling strange, feeling untethered. Liem could be twenty-five, could be a century, could be twenty-five centuries and it would not quite be recognizable to Set; what he understands is that it is a long life, longer than most. That humans are often hunched and wrinkled and succeeded by generations of their own by the time a century has passed.

Slowly, he curls his legs onto the bed and shifts his hips. Drawing deeper into the mattress again, though he badly wants to pace. Wants to fling himself out the window and find his child in the dark of the abyss beyond the edge of the island. Right now, he has to lean into Liem. To press the line of his shoulder along the other man's and try, desperately, to allow himself comfort and understanding. To remain. ]

You are so young, yet older than most of your peers. A difficult position to find yourself in, I bet.

[ The back of his hand, ring gleaming, finds the plane of Liem's cheek. ]

— I am leaning upon you, too. Right now, most of all.

It is.

[It is difficult. Liem can admit that as he follows Set further onto the bed, leaning into him, seeking the reassurance of his touch just as much as he attempts to give it. Two halves of an arch, propping each other upright.

Liem is young, really. The aches and pains he has suffered throughout his life have nothing to do with the age of his body. The silver in his hair is born of stress and hardship rather than the forward march of time. And for some people, like the elves of his home world, or the gods and other strange beings who are pulled to Kenos, he has not lived so very long at all.

But his people are human, and it is humans whom Liem has watched grow and age and wither around him for scores and scores of years. And that is hard.]

I enjoy so few constants in my life, Set.

[His head tips just enough for the soft curve of his mouth to brush against the back of Set’s hand.]

This, at least, I am pleased to provide.

[ Energy burns just under his skin, fraught and strained. He twists further into Liem, hands dropping to either sides of his hips, fingers inching forward across bedspread and mattress until Set's forearms bracket Liem's waist and he can bear his weight across him. Crooked against his chest, neck craning so that his mouth can find the gentle curve of the man's own. To draw tongue across the bottom lip and push the bridge of his nose across Liem's, forehead resting against his.

Trying to be in his space, to do something with his wild energy. ] Am I keeping you awake, now?

[ Even if he does not sleep, he won't tire. As a god, he is notably diminished, but the presence of the ring will assist him. More than that, it will mark him for Liem's eye. ]

I do not want to go.

[Liem wonders what kind of distraction Set had been seeking when he had first slithered noiselessly into his bed; if it was the same as the distraction he seems increasingly to be seeking now, as he comes gradually closer to caging Liem against the sheets. He is very aware of his own state of undress as Set’s body slides deliberately against his, heat and tension alike pouring from his skin. Equally aware of the pulse thumping feverishly beneath it, and of the taste of him when he finds Liem’s mouth with his own.]

You are, of course.

[He is leaning back on one hand now, but his other snakes up to find the fall of Set’s hair, to card through it as he presses a cool kiss against the corner of his mouth — gentle, but inquisitive. As distractions go, Liem has been a poor one thus far. But if Set wishes for a way to burn off his restless energy while he considers how best to move forward, this is something Liem can certainly accommodate. Though the god may currently be ignorant of this fact, he is well used to sleepless nights.]

But you do not need to leave.

[ There is a miserable sort of fondness in him; an ache, as he finds himself increasingly attached to lives he never really would have, had he never come to Kenos. He finds most people difficult to settle with, to find something within them that resonates strongly and invites his attention. Whatever Liem Talbott is made of, it sinks within him easily and simply. Causes his chest to constrict and his heart to flutter, as he slides his hands down to Liem's waist, to his hips. Pushes himself into him and spreads him back against his own mattress. ]

Are you still haunted by what you see in the shadows, Liem?

[ By his father, he means. By someone who sounds so like Osiris.

The non sequitur might seem abrupt, but Set's mind has always juggled multiple things with ease. And he flits from topic to topic without a break in his own logic, sweeping his warm hands across Liem's belly as he bows his head into those cool fingers, touching him gently. Another kiss, and he extends a hand out to the empty space in the room — curling his fingers as a burst of Meridian's light flickers in his eyes. Soft starlight begins to illuminate the room, the scent of foreign spices and the murmur of a voice — a woman's deep, husky voice singing a lullaby in a foreign, dead language. ]

I will stay. I do not think I can sleep, but — my thoughts are quieter, with you.

[It is true: Liem does not expect Set to bring up the shade of his father, now of all times. He does not like to think of him at moments like this, when he is in the arms of another, with lips warm against his skin. He does not like to think of him, because his father has invaded even moments such as these, making Liem doubt the privacy of his own intimate moments, the trustworthiness of his own lovers. Easier not to have any, when paranoia was the alternative.

The hand in Set’s hair stills, for just a moment. He reminds himself that if anyone would be beyond the powers of a mortal man — even one lingering beyond death — to sway, to claim, to end, Set must be one such person. Though he shows a most disconcertingly human-like vulnerability to being tricked and used.]

I still fear to see him.

[There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which people are caught by the Tree of Life and pulled to Kenos to be born. He has no reason to expect Iago to appear — but also no reason to be sure he will not. So Springstar’s gathering shadows make him nervous, no matter how much he tries to avoid turning his thoughts that direction.

His other hand sweeps around to Set’s back, his arm wrapping around him to keep him there.]

But not right now.

[ Perhaps that is why Set asks. Because in moments like these, he is haunted and stalked by a man who lied to him from the dawn of time; a man who led him to believe that he was pleased by him and happy for him, when really he coveted Set and conspired to possess him. He finds it hard to trust, when the back of his mind still whispers in Osiris's voice. When he is still a liar, a cast-aside god bearing the brand and domain of evil. ]

When you are afraid or in pain, call to me. I was — once, I was a protector god. I may be evil now, but sometimes my body remembers.

[ He would come to Liem's side: a guardian, who had burned bright and fierce in defense of those who dwelled in Egypt. Great and small, old and newborn. He had traveled far and wide in the world he'd known, and met with other pantheons to broker agreements and do battle with their armies when needed. He had never wanted to conquer, only protect. To challenge and thwart, through might and trickery and negotiation.

He tips down toward Liem, bracing his warm weight across him as he kisses across his mouth, his cheek and to the space next to the crease of his eye. A hand sweeps down his body, broadly spreading across his thigh. ( You can be insatiable for me, he thinks within his mind, in Communion directed into Liem's own. A favored thing of his: talking aloud and between minds, simultaneously and effortlessly. I know you are greedy and wanton, and I adore it. ) ]

I could remember it better, for you.

[Liem submits so easily to the press of Set’s weight against him and the wandering of his mouth over his face. Tension leaves him like a long-held breath, relieving some urgent vigilance kept close all throughout his waking hours and even into the shallow sleep that passes for his nightly rest. Perhaps it is no wonder he often seems a little weary, given how foreign relaxation truly is to him — but now, in the desert god’s company, he falls into, if not true ease, then some close approximation of it. Without conscious thought, the mantle of his wariness slips from him, set aside for the night.

And still, even in the midst of his soft-edged contentment, even in the privacy of his home, the words Set slips to him in the privacy of his mind still make him flush; because they are true, and because acknowledging his want makes him feel more naked than he already is in his state of half-dress. Liem’s fingers curl in Set’s hair, a little covetously, and he tips his face against the crook of neck and shoulder, pressing a cool, lingering kiss there to disguise his sudden embarrassment. His brows frown a little over Set’s shoulder.]

You would come for me?

[This seems a greedy thought to entertain; the idea that Set might speed to his aid, if only he were to ask. Though gods know, Liem is terrible at asking.]

Yes, I would.

[ Set's hands trace the cool, pale skin of Liem's chest; his fingers trace around the shape of his Shard, the end of a well-kept nail flirting with the edges of it. His own Shard is bare upon his chest when the tumble of his hair and the heavy weight of gold jewelry shifts aside — an unpolished gash of red jasper like a laceration over his heart.

He bends his head, and presses a soft, brief kiss to the lovely compass points embedded in Liem's chest. Hands in his hair can be alarming, but Liem has never pulled at him with harsh intentions. Even if he had, it would be a matter of correcting the injury — to be able to keep him. ]

I am here, real and yours. I will listen attentively for your voice.

[ Pain still lances within him, but slowly, Set pours himself into bed alongside Liem; he rests on his side, hand stroking across bare skin and up into Liem's hair, thumbing against the corner of his eye and the arch of his cheek. ]

In this — I get to choose you, as you get to choose me.

[There is a strange and unfamiliar vulnerability inherent to letting another person touch the crystallized shard embedded in his chest. Liem’s breath stills in his lungs as warm lips caress the many-pointed edges; his fingers slide through the crimson fall of Set’s hair to trace the shell of his ear.

He has still not figured out what he is meant to be to Set, nor what exactly the god wishes from him when he calls him friend and seeks to keep him close. But he knows that he wants what he is offered in return.]

I will call to you, then.

[Sometimes. When the struggle he contends with is one that he can bear for another to witness. That is all he can really guarantee for now; he hopes it will suffice.

Shifting, Liem turns to fit himself against the other man, arm about him and body pressed close, legs twining with Set’s bare ones. Seeking his warmth.]

And I hope that you will call me sometimes, also.

[Even if he is just a man, and he cannot offer any more than a mortal is capable of giving. Like he is doing now. But mortal hands and mortal wishes have always been the only thing he had for his own god, so he knows that gods desire such things.]

kenos | inbox

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cw: emotional manipulation mention

nOOOOOO WIEM

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"and how long have you been seventeen"

a while 😔

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