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Liem Talbott
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Liem's mindscape is dark; quiet; contemplative. Any feelings or sensations that Liem doesn't intentionally project himself seem distant, as though echoing from a far-off room. Following any given sense to its source is bafflingly difficult.
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And yet, he has come to realise, he does Set a disservice whenever he insists upon ignoring the god’s affections, insists on pretending they do not exist. Even if Set’s feelings are Set’s and Liem’s feelings are Liem’s, he must find a way to live with both of them in his heart, and appreciate them for what they are.]
I have wondered this often, [he admits. Ever since they quarrelled after the Harbinger Oracle’s trial, and especially after the attack on Highstorm, he’s been plagued with thoughts about what he’d like to be between them—about why Set’s love frightened him so much, and why the idea of returning it felt not just impossible, but painful. And yet, how Set seems to have such skill at making him desire things with him that he’d never allowed himself to consider before.]
You already know, I think, that when I told you I didn’t know how to love—that wasn’t true. But all the same, when I have loved in the past, it’s always seemed to ruin something. Or to not be good enough. So I thought, the fault must lie with me.
[Though Set has denied this already: denied that being difficult or broken or unpalatable should make him less worth loving. But it seems difficult to believe, when he cannot fathom what about himself might be worth the trouble.]
When I say I wish to belong to you, I want… [He hesitates, evidently more self-conscious about this than he is about plastering himself against Set’s body.] I want you to be glad I’m yours. To be glad that I love you. Because, I do. And I… I want that to be valuable.
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[ Petulant, Set lifts his chin and turns his face away; red hair flows across his shoulders as he 'hmphs', though his arms remain locked where they are. His hands soft on Liem's body, his own posture leaning towards him the way a flower might seek a sun. A bird seeking a roost, or, best yet: a cat, finding the most reluctant lap to make a home in. He knew Liem could love.
It was a question less of that, and more of whether or not he felt he should love and be loved. Things like that were silly to think of, Set had come to believe. Horus had shown him that, in part; his sister's love for her people had helped him recognize it. His own love for people who had once adored him, and been driven to their worst selves by that love for him, and the need for him to punish them for their sins with his own hands — had painfully confirmed it. ]
It is not up to you to decide if you should or should not be loved. That is the purview of others, always.
[ That is the lesson he knows. Why he knows he is difficult to love: it's not his own opinion, but a learned thing. External fact made internalized belief. Softly, despite the way he curls his words like a child that's been told "you're right" ( even if Liem did not exactly say that! ), he sulks through the rest of the conversation. His hands upon Liem, his mouth tugging into a full pout, lower lip jutting out and to the side while his eyes narrow and nose wrinkles. ]
How do I show you that you belong to me? That I am glad for all of it, and value what you are. Right like this, without asking you to change or be more or less? Selfishly, I love you and want to be loved back by you. I married my first love. Rudbeckia asked me to wed her, for her safety and comfort and because that means something to her. You... do not wish that, yet there is something that will bring you confidence in "us". There has to be.
[ He tugs Liem's hands closer, guides them to the brilliant, marbled red of his Shard just under the heavy line of his golden collar. Might that help? ]
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But the hot, familiar solidity of Set’s chest beneath his hands remains a comfort. He can be convinced, at least in the present day, that the god does love him, does wish to keep him close—for as long as they have remaining to them in Kenos.]
As long as you think of me, and you don’t neglect to tell me when you wish things of me, that is enough.
[Beneath the cool weight of Set’s collar, Liem traces his shard with gentle fingertips. Leaning closer, he brushes a kiss against Set’s cheek.]
Come find me when you’re happy, or upset… and share it with me.
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Beneath Liem's fingers, Set's Shard burns with his innate heat ( a child favored by Ra; feral goddess above all ) and Meridian's light. He has risen far, devoted himself to accepting that to get what he wants, he must use those who would also use him. To embrace the body of faith and cornerstone of power that was the Church, and draw Liem into its orbit as well. Like a sacrifice, to prove himself. ( He can never trust his own intentions anymore; he hadn't been able to for a long while, even before offering up his altruism. ) ]
— my sister cursed us.
[ He blurts it, sudden and feverish. Beginning in the middle, where he ought to begin at the start. ]
I am not supposed to obtain what I want. I believe that means... what I want most, but I feel its influence everywhere. In every step I take to get back to Egypt and my son, or to grow closer to you.
[ His Shard seems to flutter with nervous energy. A terribly fragile god, this one. One who takes Liem's hands and presses them down, lower and lower until he can feel the cool spread of those fingers upon his bare thighs. A bold offering from a god who is actually a bit of a prude. Who turns as red as his hair. This is a different sort of intimacy, after all! ( It is honest, not a mask worn by him or a pursuit to numb his mind. ) ]
I do want... something, though.
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How deep must the animosity between Set and Isis run, for her to have cursed him—cursed them both—in such a way? Every time the god speaks of her, Liem cannot decide whether it is with hate or painful, lonely wistfulness. Perhaps it is both.
But his eyes and his attention both follow the trail Set makes of their hands, down his body to the bare flesh of his thighs. When he looks back up at the god’s face, the flush darkening his complexion makes Liem’s expression grow more intent, and a warm, persuasive desire slides through him in response. He wants to get his mouth all over that blush, and only the gravity of their discussion prevents his train of thought from being entirely derailed. Somehow, for all his fussiness, the more debauched one sometimes ends up being Liem.
And although he is being good, his fingers still splay over Set’s overwarm skin, thumbs sliding down to stroke the softer flesh of his inner thighs.]
What is it that you want, Set?
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Right now, he wants.
Liem's hands on his bare skin, cool and strong. The way his eyes burn with his own desire — thumbs along his inner thighs, and he wants those hands in more places. Tucked into his own, or holding him firm. He does not yield to things easily, especially not to his own desires when they are "without purpose" other than to be intimate. ]
— you can't tell?
[ brat ( he's testing you, liem ). ]
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But for all that, he is no less intrigued. Liem shifts on the couch, his hands inching a little further up Set’s thighs as he leans over, bracing one knee between Set’s legs. Slowly; deliberately. His eyes remain upon Set’s face, seeking, and they look a little hungry.
Is this what Set desires? Does he want it when Liem’s fingertips skirt beneath the hem of his shendyt? When he leans closer, dipping near—to brush his mouth against that flushed brow?]
I want you to tell me.
8)
The redhead opens his mouth, and he wants to say what is on his mind. He wants Liem to know what he wants, but the words strangle in his throat. Not for lack of trying, but for a host of other reasons that need to be whispered first. As Set turns his head up, and his smile turns a little thin and drawn. His eyes still want, they do not flinch, but something inside of him needs to say the first thing, if he wants to live up to Liem voicing his own "want". ]
— men, categorically, do not touch me like you do.
[ One of his own hands dips, fingers gliding across the dark material of his shendyt to the angle of Liem's wrist. Not to push him away, but to stroke the cool skin there. To curl his fingers around it and try to draw it higher between his thighs, nakedly flustering and petulant as his mouth frowns and draws into a deeper pout. His spine rolls into an arch, to push his shoulders down against cushioning and hips higher.
Be nice. [ He scolds a little, sounding terribly put out by such an easy request, before he amends his tone and words: ] I want, to be touched nicely. By you.
the way this went from relationship conversation to smut in like 4 tags
The thought is a little frightening. The trust Set chooses to put in him is frightening.
Still, Liem’s eyes dip, caught by the insistent arch of Set’s body, and his blood heats at the urging of those warm fingers. The god’s desire is clear enough now—and Liem wants to indulge him, with a suddenness that catches him off guard. He wants.]
Is that all?
[His free hand, the one unimpeded by Set’s fingers, pulls away so he can lean his arm against the couch’s back, poised over the other man. That pouting mouth begs to be kissed, and he finally will, sliding his tongue over the lush curve of Set’s lower lip, as he gives in to the coaxing of the hand on his wrist. His fingers disappear beneath dark fabric to find Set’s cock, to curl around it and stroke with deliberate, teasing gentleness.]
You know I like putting my hands on you.