[When Cardan pulls back again to look down at him, Liem meets his regard confidently, his eyes aglow with pleasure. This is so infinitely better than remaining shut up in his office, poring over contracts and reports. Even if it means he must lose sleep tomorrow to catch up on the work they neglected tonight, he cannot bring himself to regret a moment of their stolen leisure—not when the reward of his husband’s enjoyment has become so dear.]
Come, and you will find out.
[He takes Cardan’s hand again, bringing him back to the river’s edge, where he’d left the bag. From it, Liem digs a pair of vacuum flasks, straightening so he can press one into his husband’s gloved hands.
Inside is, indeed, mulled wine that is still very warm. It’s certainly warm enough to keep Cardan toasty while they take a break from skating around; it should also be warm enough to thaw out Liem’s mouth for a little while.]
I grew tired of being insufficiently provisioned when bringing you on outings.
[ Cardan hadn't questioned Liem's assertion that whatever he brought would still be warm. Now that he holds the flask in his hands, though, he realizes that he had -- sort of -- just assumed that Liem meant magic, not this... contraption. He turns it over, curious, and feels the gentle slosh of liquid inside. When he uncaps the bottle, he's surprised to find that the liquid inside is indeed still steaming.
For once, he is civilized -- or rather, charmed -- enough to tip the contents of the bottle into the gleaming little cup that had served as its cap. This he raises with great ceremony. ]
To delightful surprises.
[ The grin on his face feels irrepressible. No matter how many strange concerns or odd emotions this outing might ambush him with, he cannot deny that he's having fun. And though he doesn't imagine that he's going to get particularly drunk tonight, the heat of the wine is pleasant, and the way Liem wears his enjoyment of the night is frightfully attractive. Now that he has quit staring at his own feet, he finds it difficult to take his eyes off of his husband.
So he does not. Instead, he pours and downs his second cup of wine, and then his third -- and once the pleasant warmth of it is spreading through him, it becomes all the more impossible to resist drifting close.
He is markedly more loose-limbed with a bit of drink in him. ]
...were you surprised, when we first met?
It must have been strange, to field so many Folk at once.
[Occupied as Liem is with observing his husband’s charming inspection of the flask, he is a little behind him in actually pouring any drink for himself—but not by much. He reins in his attention sufficiently to uncork his own bottle so he may toast along with his spouse, downing the steaming contents of his little cup and pouring himself another to follow suit with. Now that the bottle is open to the air, he intends to drink it quickly, not wishing to let the heat of it escape into the chill winter night.
It’s rather sweet for his tastes, of course—not something he’d typically wish to drink an entire thermos of. But the heat crawling down his throat and blooming in his chest is pleasant, and in present company he doesn’t mind the fuzzy relaxation, either; especially when Cardan insinuates himself closer, until they seem like illicit lovers guarding their secrets from the snow-covered trees.
Liem murmurs, dryly,] I was too busy hosting to have time to be properly surprised.
[He pours his third cup, trying not to let Cardan leave him completely in the dust. Strange how those late-summer nights seem so long ago now, when it has scarcely been half a year.]
I was more surprised when we actually visited Faerie. But… [He smiles into his cup.] I was a little suspicious, initially. Even for a faerie man, my groom seemed implausibly alluring.
[ Cardan has, in typical fashion, decided that three cups' worth of manners is enough. The wine is both tasty and pleasant, and it dulls the annoying little voice of Liem's worry effectively -- but he wishes to have at least one of his hands unoccupied. It is much easier to cram both cup and cork into the hand also holding the flask, and then tip his head back and drink straight from its mouth.
His quirked eyebrow does not betray a particular wealth of belief in Liem's version of the story. ]
Ah, yes, quite suspicious. Just imagine if I had been sent there to seduce you.
[ A thing he had, in fact, failed at almost immediately.]
[Cardan’s skepticism-laden sarcasm coaxes a soft laugh from Liem. He is right of course; they had obviously not gotten on particularly well in those first few weeks. Meanness and a ready temper are hardly the kind of qualities he would expect from someone trying to seduce him.]
You were quick to put that notion to rest, yes.
[Seduction wasn’t necessarily on Liem’s mind, regardless; Cardan hardly needed to be compliant to provide a compelling distraction. But that, however, is a dourer topic than he’d really like to visit. He drains his cup instead, enjoying the tingle that slowly spreads out towards his limbs as he does.]
But you certainly could have in those first nights, if you’d wished to.
[It’s almost funny that Liem ended up presenting such a chaste first impression to his own husband, given that physical touch was previously the one outlet he still freely allowed himself. But then, he hadn’t expected to offend his groom on the very night of their marriage.]
[ Yes, yes, they don't need to dwell on Cardan's failures. He would like to say that he did wish to, but time and consideration has made him realize that was, maybe, not entirely true. If he had wished to seduce Liem, he would have done so -- he did do so, weeks later. But he'd wanted his new husband to make the first move, to make up for the offense of rejecting Cardan that very first morning.
But there's no need to dwell on that. Instead he sighs, and sets about finishing his own flask. When he's done, he will wipe at his mouth and tuck the reassembled flask under his arm, even as his free hand sneaks its way back to Liem's waist. ]
The worse crime of the night was your father making you host.
[ The night before his wedding, especially. The wedding that Liem clearly didn't want and hadn't chosen to have -- it seems exquisitely cruel, now that he thinks back on it. No wonder Liem had not been keen on meeting him.
His gloved hand finds Liem's jaw, tilts his face up as Cardan steps into him. ]
It was your servants that surprised me.
Elowyn could not tell me much about you, when the arrangements were being made. I thought this meant that you were probably horrible. [ His smile is quick, a little rueful. ]
But when we were heading back to our rooms, you spoke to the staff like you knew them.
[ And they, in turn, seemed happy for Liem, rather than terrified of him. ]
[Despite the attention Liem gives his own wine, his rather more deliberate pace means that he has not yet finished with it when Cardan drains his own flask and tucks it under his arm. He is left holding the remains of his drink as his husband snakes an arm around him and insinuates himself into his space, something that now manages to be both delightful and inconvenient.
Though if he considers it, those two words describe many of his interactions with his husband.]
I prefer not to be horrible to people who depend on me.
[He says this wryly, warmly conscious of the feel of leather against his jaw, and of his husband’s breath escaping in slivers of fog between them. The handsome flush beneath Cardan’s skin and his deep-forest scent make him seem like spring’s herald, promising the return of green and vital things. He tips his face eagerly toward him.]
But… I volunteered to host. It gave me something to do.
[It had given him something about the arrangement, at least, that he could control.]
[ That is news to him, actually, though he can’t say he’s particularly surprised. Elfhame was the closest he’s ever come to wrestling Liem into idleness, and even then his husband had found a way to impose structure onto his evenings.
This does little to change his poor opinion of his father-in-law, even though he does owe Iago a debt of gratitude: after all, if he had never brokered their marriage, Cardan would have not found himself here. He cannot rightly call this happiness -- not when he can't even imagine surviving to this time next year, not when it feels like any moment someone could come ruin it for him. But maybe, for creatures like them, this fragile, stolen joy is the next closest thing.
He does not know if he's ever wanted something so terribly as he wants to be proven wrong. ]
Finish your wine, husband, [ he says, even though he is going to lean in and kiss Liem, giving him no chance to drink his wine at all. ]
[It probably says something, about Liem and about his life, that he finds himself so desperate to exert control over his life in all situations except when he is with Cardan. Finding contentment is strangely easy in his company, no matter how demanding his whims or how fickle his moods. Liem cannot recall ever being so eager to have his time monopolized by anyone, even those he’d fallen unwisely into affection for.
When he melts into the kiss that Cardan steals from him, it’s with something like relief. A silly feeling to have, when kisses from his spouse certainly haven’t been in short supply; but ever since their trip to Elfhame, the greed that surfaces in him whenever he thinks of his husband has tormented him at every opportunity. Insinuating himself into Cardan’s embrace feels ever more like tasting something fleeting and forbidden, and he cannot stop himself from craving more: more of his kisses, more of his touch, more of his hunger and his tenderness and that strange reverence that makes Liem’s heart constrict in his chest.
He does not want to stop kissing him; and he doesn’t stop, not for a very long moment. He stretches up instead, chasing his mouth with gentle, wanting kisses now spiced and warm from drink. Only after he has left his husband thoroughly breathless will he consent to pull back—and lift his flask so he can drain the rest of it in one long, intent-filled motion.]
[ As always, he's still surprised by the surge of savage affection that courses through him when Liem stretches up to pursue him. The arm that wraps around his husband is covetously tight; his tail brushes over the back of Liem's knee, half-coiling around them both. Time seems to stop in moments like these, and Cardan's sense of self-preservation flees with it. He only wants more of this -- of that serious mouth softened by want, of those covetous hands and Liem's gentle persistence. And what does he need breath for, anyway? Surely nothing worth caring this much about.
When Liem pulls back to finish his wine, Cardan's hand slips down to brush his throat, fingertips deliberate in following the way it moves as he swallows. His black gaze on Liem is no less intent. Desire has coiled in his abdomen, has slithered down his spine, teased keen by the taste of his husband's mouth.
But then, surely Liem can tell.
He doesn't give either of them much time to recover before he kisses Liem again, hungry and insistent. After all, his husband took such effort to warm up for him -- who is he to waste such a gift? ]
[He doesn’t know why he ever thinks he can take his husband somewhere, just the two of them, and not eventually become hopelessly distracted with desire for him. When has that ever happened? When has he spent a night alone in Cardan’s company and ignored the lure of his impertinent regard and wandering hands? No matter how inconvenient tonight’s chill temperature makes the prospect of touch, it cannot stop Liem from wanting.
It certainly doesn’t stop the shiver of lust that slides right down to his thighs at the caress of Cardan’s fingers over his neck. He feels electrically aware of the dark eyes fixed on him, the arm wrapped around his waist, the tail brushing the back of his leg. As Cardan leans in again, the chill breeze slips from his thoughts without fuss, along with any concerns about keeping balanced on the ice. He is much too absorbed in the press of his husband’s body against him, and the thrill of teasing Cardan’s desire hotter along with his own.
Something that would be easier with free hands. He addresses this problem with brisk efficiency, tossing first the lid and cork, then his flask itself at the riverbank, where all three objects plunge into the fluffy layer of snow. This makes it much more feasible for him to slide an arm over his husband’s shoulders, keeping him conveniently close while Liem tastes the shape of his mouth. And if his free hand is also hungry in its wandering down Cardan’s chest and flank, surely that cannot be considered threatening while his hands remain gloved.]
[ It is ever torturous that the winter -- which delights his husband so -- also makes it impossible for Cardan to enjoy him as thoroughly as he'd like. Even now, the chill bites at the tips of his ears; where his nose brushes against Liem's, he is still icy. But his mouth is wine-warm and eager, and the lean line of his body pressed against Cardan's makes him ache with need, even through layers and layers of clothing between them.
No, he is not worried about Liem's hands. He's worried about his own -- and the places they cannot go right now. The one at Liem's back slides down, long fingers squeezing at the curve of his ass, shamelessly greedy.
He is still breathless when he pulls away next; his own heartbeat thunders in his ears. ]
If you wish to keep me out longer, you will... [ He has to pause, catch his breath; his forehead drops to Liem's shoulder as he does. ] You'll have to cease... ah, making me want to haul you back to the house.
[ He would. He wants to. Never mind that he's supposed to be cheating, and carrying his husband through the manor is probably antithetical to that. Then again, the staff should be under no illusion about the extent of their physical intimacy. ]
[As far as Liem is concerned, the only way to improve a night spent skating with his husband is to introduce the opportunity to make out under the stars. The brisk winter air and gentle sound of the night breeze make for a lovely backdrop for Cardan’s hungry kisses and greedy hands, pulling a pleased, impatient little hum from Liem’s throat as he demands more heat, more contact.
It is surely too cold out here for his husband to go much further, but Liem has never claimed to not be a tease.]
How am I meant to do that?
[Redirection, he supposes. His husband is a greedy man; perhaps he can appeal to one of his other hungers. His hands wander to Cardan’s back, insatiably restless.
But he tips his face when Cardan leans against his shoulder, pressing warm kisses against the chilly shell of his ear. The novel sensation brings an amused frown to his brow.]
Your poor ear feels like one of mine. Perhaps I should bring you back in after all.
[ The sensation is, indeed, novel — he shivers with it, caught a little off guard. But Liem’s easy acquiescence sits ill with him, somehow. His husband is too often ready to drop his own needs to tend to Cardan’s. And as many (undue, unreasonable) concerns as he has about the ice, he has also seldom seen Liem derive such uncomplicated joy from an activity.
He lifts his head, taking a moment to peer at Liem’s face — which is a mistake, after all, because looking at that serious mouth ever makes him want to kiss it again. And again, and again, until he probably would freeze to an ice block, standing right here. The pointy tips of his ears do ache, when he bothers paying attention to them. ]
No, [ he says, with all the stubborn determination of a princely tyrant. ] My husband has promised me a skate into the forest. I wish to have it.
[ His eyebrows lift, suggestive. ]
As much as I also wish to have you.
[ But there will be time for that, surely, once they’re done with their adventure. Provided neither of them falls in the river before then— but he squashes the thought with cold determination, even as he straightens fully. ]
[Predictably, Cardan’s princely demand brings a warm little squeeze to Liem’s chest and a smile to the corners of his mouth. Perhaps at some point over six months of marriage, another man might have started finding his husband’s arrogance tiresome instead of charming, but the manner suits him like the fine jewellery he’s so fond of wearing, a reminder of his royalty no matter what the circumstance, and Liem cannot begrudge him his armour.]
Then you will.
[The arm around his husband’s shoulders retreats until his gloved hand can linger, very briefly, at Cardan’s face. He will keep his husband close for only a moment more, cupping the back of his neck so he can lean up and press a kiss against the chilly tip of his nose.
Then he does release him, his cheeks tinted faintly from the wine as he retrieves the discarded flasks to replace them in his bag. The bag he slings back over his shoulder to take with them, though for once he will not fuss over Cardan if his husband seems ill-inclined to re-don his coat. If he feels warm enough without it, well, he surely knows best.
But he will take his husband’s hand again, before they delve upriver into the woods.]
[ Cardan doesn't understand it: how something so simple as a kiss to the tip of his nose can be so charming when it comes from his husband. Maybe it's because of that pretty, faint violet decorating Liem's cheekbones -- maybe it's just because this serious, composed man always seems so very unlikey to indulge in affectionate nonsense.
It is effective, regardless.
Less effective: his attempts to ignore the undue worry about the cold. The discarded coat lies in a forlorn heap on the ice where he'd left it; typically, Cardan would not give it a second thought, happily skating off into the moonlight with Liem's hand in his, consequences be damned. Now, tonight, he is experiencing an uncharacteristic moment of doubt.
...but it's heavy, and he suspects he has about an equal chance of getting too warm as he is of freezing. He ends up compromising by keeping his thick woolen scarf about his neck.
As it turns out, he chooses correctly. It is a clear, still night, and though the frost nips at his ears and his nose, their brisk pace keeps him warm enough. He grows bolder, too -- letting go of his lover's hand occasionally to skate over to a particularly interesting bit of shore or stretch up to touch the branches of a willow bent low by snow.
And if he steals icy kisses from Liem's lips each time he returns to his side, well, surely the heat that pours off of him is enough for them both. ]
This isn't so difficult, [ he will proclaim eventually, glancing at Liem. His half-smile gleams with a strange bit of mischief. ] Perhaps we should race.
[ Well, they are on their way back, and he is impatient to get his chilled husband into a hot bath. Not to mention, the cold is starting to gain ground; his tail has ceased its coiling motions in the night air, and instead plastered itself to his leg. ]
[It is well that Cardan has agreed to explore upriver with his husband, because Liem has much he’d like to show him. Recalling the way his forest has seemed to delight his spouse on other occasions, he takes him eagerly up the tree-lined road of ice, below snow-laden boughs and around fallen trunks protruding from the river’s surface. Bared to the night sky above, the frozen river glows like a trail of moonlight cutting through the pale dark. Here and there hide charming little glades and hollows that, on other nights, he might climb the bank to linger in for an hour or two. But the glimpses of them are still lovely enough from the shore.
And as always, the novelty of meandering from one bank to the other makes Liem feel like he is getting away with something—especially when Cardan is so happy to gift him with stolen kisses in the ice’s midst.]
Bored with our current pace, are you?
[Liem aims a raised eyebrow Cardan’s way, intrigued at the suggestion of such a contest.]
[ Cardan's smile twitches a little wider. He's not bored -- but that's never stopped him from pursuing further thrills. ]
Certainly.
[ But he doesn't let go of Liem's hand, not yet; in fact, he slows down to a stop. His free hand will reach up to his throat to pull off-- his ascot, buried as it has been under layers of heavy scarf. ]
But you have an advantage, husband.
[ Aside from the fact that Cardan has only just learned how to skate, he is no vampire, and certainly not possessed of the kind of speed capable of keeping up with a hunting pack of wolves.
He reaches up, the pale blue silk of his tie clutched between his fingers; the fabric is still skin-warm. Those same fingers brush against Liem's temple.
His smile grows contemplative. ]
I think it only fair that we should even out the playing field.
[Liem should be grateful that his husband’s mischief rarely costs him anything he’s unwilling to part with, given how charming he finds it. Never has he been so eager to fall prey to another man’s whims, just for the chance to have Cardan smile at him like that. He is so unexpectedly possessive of moments like this; it is profoundly stupid that he manages to envy the victims of his husband’s bullying at parties where Liem is intentionally trying to maintain his distance. But he does, and he can’t imagine objecting to being the focus of Cardan’s attention now.]
You so love to make my life difficult.
[His eyes slide over the undone silk as he makes this observation; there are very few uses he can imagine the tie fulfilling at the moment, and one of them seems distinctly likely to send him skating into a snowbank.
But the relaxed, upright line of his body is free of apprehension, and his eyes smile a little as he squeezes his husband’s gloved hand—and gently releases it, sliding his arms loosely about Cardan’s waist instead.]
I will be sporting, even though I suspect my husband of inventing reasons to pull tricks on me. You may have your concession.
[ The smile twitches into a grin -- before it disappears entirely, replaced with a wounded frown. ]
You are too suspicious.
[ Suspicious and unjust; what else could Cardan call these accusations? ]
You ought to know by now that I need no reason to trick you. [ Aside, perhaps, from the fact that Liem so transparently enjoys it. ] And besides, this is hardly an obstacle for you.
[ He leans in, taking the silk of the tie between both his hands. For all of Cardan's protests, at least one of Liem's suspicions is right: he does intend to blindfold his husband. The gesture with which he slides the fabric over Liem's eyes is carefully deliberate; he takes his time with it, lining it up just so. ]
Or are you telling me you would not hear me, husband?
[ The slice of his skates on the ice, yes -- but also his heartbeat, all the more impertinent for the exercise he's about to put it through. His mouth moves against Liem's ear, his murmur low, even as clever fingers tie the knot at the back of Liem's head. ]
[Initially, Liem is too occupied with the ascot sliding over his eyes to worry about his husband’s accusations. The silk now hugging his skin still retains some of his husband’s warmth and scent; it strikes him with a pang of impatience to be back in the heated privacy of their rooms, where he might enjoy more than just a hint of such things without assaulting Cardan with his icy skin.]
Oh—?
[His tone is curious, even as Cardan dips to murmur at his ear. The brush of lips there brings Liem’s mind to distracting places, which is likely at least partially to blame for the way he’s now allowing his spouse to tie a blindfold on him in the midst of the woods. Cardan really does have such a talent for getting him to agree to stupid things.]
Am I meant to be hunting you? I thought you wished to race. In that case I would want you behind me.
[The way his hands wander down to Cardan’s hips insinuates a more intimate meaning, though his blindfolded face remains unreadable.]
[ Cardan's hands linger, even once he's finished -- gloved fingers toying with the hair at Liem's nape. His soft breath out against Liem's ear is half huffed laugh, half wistful sigh.
He does want to be behind his husband. And on top of him. And a couple of other things, besides, all of which -- no doubt -- will reflect in his heart rate. But he cannot have the thing he wants out on the ice, and so he will only press a kiss to Liem's ear before straightening.
As it turns out, seeing the blindfold has an effect on his heart rate too. It seems foolish, all of a sudden, that he'd waited until now to inflict this upon Liem. His gloved thumb finds the edge of the silk, follows the line of it over Liem's cheek, down the sharp slant of his cheekbone and to his mouth.
And since Liem cannot see him, there is no need to hide the strange tender longing that presses up against Cardan's ribs when he looks at him. His thumb traces the curve of Liem's lower lip. ]
Then I suppose you're facing quite the dilemma. Devouring, or being devoured yourself.
[ The thumb presses down, gentle but insistent, dimpling the soft flesh of Liem's lip, feeling it yield. He is seized, unbidden, by his lover's assertion earlier -- that he wouldn't want to spoil Cardan by being on his knees too often. Perhaps Liem is right. And still, and still, Cardan can hardly think of a thing he could want more, just then, with the blindfold over Liem's eyes and that dangerous mouth at his mercy.
[Despite Liem’s idle teasing, he is finding it increasingly difficult to care about any race over the ice, given the much more immediate reality of his husband’s lips brushing his ear and the leather-clad fingers dancing over his skin. Cardan’s caress along his cheek, his mouth, makes eagerness tighten in his chest, especially as that caress turns more insistent. Unbidden, his lips part slightly in wordless answer to that soft pressure.
Given the subtle excitement of the pulse thumping beneath Cardan’s skin, he wishes very much that he could see his face.]
How is it unenviable?
[Roused as it always is by Cardan’s touch, desire coils impatiently in him: the want for his insatiable husband to devour him utterly, to leave nothing unsampled and nothing unclaimed. But in truth the insatiable one must be Liem, because no amount of indulging Cardan’s greed has ever been able to quiet his longing. And even then, as desperate as he is to be claimed, he also cannot deny his simmering, slow-growing hunger to have his husband at his mercy.
Liem’s lip presses back against the smooth leather when he speaks, resisting just a little. Though his mouth remains serious, curiosity warms his tone.]
Whichever way the results fall, I receive something I want.
[ He's staring, he knows. He cannot help it. If he stared any harder, he'd be worried that Liem could feel the sear of it on his face, blindfold or no. It's just that Liem's mouth feels so pliant under Cardan's touch -- just that the parting of his lips is so inviting. He wants to press his fingers inside that willing mouth; the thought spikes through his veins with sharp need, heady and hot like the rush of hard liquor. His breath skips with the intensity of it.
It's too telling. It feels too dangerous to let Liem know just how completely he has Cardan in his grasp. And still he cannot help leaning in, close enough that his mouth nearly touches his husband's. ]
Come, then, [ he breathes, against Liem's skin.
And then he is gone.
It is, granted, a little abrupt, and perhaps not as elegant as he could have hoped for -- he's not yet proficient at manoeuvring on the ice. He more pushes Liem from his grasp than he pulls away from him, but it doesn't matter. Even with the blindfold, he doesn't particularly expect to win.
But there is some hidden thrill in this, too -- to expecting Liem to be on his heels, even now. Cardan doesn't look back as he takes off, wind rushing loud in his ears.
The shore isn't so far. Perhaps he even has a chance, however small it may be. ]
[Cardan is right, of course: Liem cannot have everything he wishes for, not all at once at least. And given the demands on their time, he cannot have all he wishes for one after the other, either. There are too many arrangements to make, too many obligations to fulfill. Never enough opportunities to make Cardan his in all the ways he would wish, or to drown himself entirely in his fervent attentions for long enough to forget all his cares.
But he has tonight, and after all, what is life but a parade of sacrifices of some kind or another? He cannot begrudge the loss of unknown pleasure when Cardan’s breath is still warm on his lips.
And then it is not. His husband pushes away suddenly—a not terribly sporting beginning for their little contest—leaving Liem grasping empty air. He takes off after him with a short, accusatory laugh, following the sound of his skates, of his breaths, of his heart, keeping close on his heels.
Does he dare try to overtake him? He cannot hear the sweep of the riverbank where it meets the ice, or the odd fallen tree where it protrudes from the frozen water. Trying to beat him back to the forest’s edge will probably not net him any worthwhile results.
And yet, he cannot resist the temptation to quicken his pace even so, only seeming to push himself more recklessly as he comes up alongside his spouse. After all, what’s really the worst that might happen?]
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Come, and you will find out.
[He takes Cardan’s hand again, bringing him back to the river’s edge, where he’d left the bag. From it, Liem digs a pair of vacuum flasks, straightening so he can press one into his husband’s gloved hands.
Inside is, indeed, mulled wine that is still very warm. It’s certainly warm enough to keep Cardan toasty while they take a break from skating around; it should also be warm enough to thaw out Liem’s mouth for a little while.]
I grew tired of being insufficiently provisioned when bringing you on outings.
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For once, he is civilized -- or rather, charmed -- enough to tip the contents of the bottle into the gleaming little cup that had served as its cap. This he raises with great ceremony. ]
To delightful surprises.
[ The grin on his face feels irrepressible. No matter how many strange concerns or odd emotions this outing might ambush him with, he cannot deny that he's having fun. And though he doesn't imagine that he's going to get particularly drunk tonight, the heat of the wine is pleasant, and the way Liem wears his enjoyment of the night is frightfully attractive. Now that he has quit staring at his own feet, he finds it difficult to take his eyes off of his husband.
So he does not. Instead, he pours and downs his second cup of wine, and then his third -- and once the pleasant warmth of it is spreading through him, it becomes all the more impossible to resist drifting close.
He is markedly more loose-limbed with a bit of drink in him. ]
...were you surprised, when we first met?
It must have been strange, to field so many Folk at once.
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It’s rather sweet for his tastes, of course—not something he’d typically wish to drink an entire thermos of. But the heat crawling down his throat and blooming in his chest is pleasant, and in present company he doesn’t mind the fuzzy relaxation, either; especially when Cardan insinuates himself closer, until they seem like illicit lovers guarding their secrets from the snow-covered trees.
Liem murmurs, dryly,] I was too busy hosting to have time to be properly surprised.
[He pours his third cup, trying not to let Cardan leave him completely in the dust. Strange how those late-summer nights seem so long ago now, when it has scarcely been half a year.]
I was more surprised when we actually visited Faerie. But… [He smiles into his cup.] I was a little suspicious, initially. Even for a faerie man, my groom seemed implausibly alluring.
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His quirked eyebrow does not betray a particular wealth of belief in Liem's version of the story. ]
Ah, yes, quite suspicious. Just imagine if I had been sent there to seduce you.
[ A thing he had, in fact, failed at almost immediately.]
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You were quick to put that notion to rest, yes.
[Seduction wasn’t necessarily on Liem’s mind, regardless; Cardan hardly needed to be compliant to provide a compelling distraction. But that, however, is a dourer topic than he’d really like to visit. He drains his cup instead, enjoying the tingle that slowly spreads out towards his limbs as he does.]
But you certainly could have in those first nights, if you’d wished to.
[It’s almost funny that Liem ended up presenting such a chaste first impression to his own husband, given that physical touch was previously the one outlet he still freely allowed himself. But then, he hadn’t expected to offend his groom on the very night of their marriage.]
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But there's no need to dwell on that. Instead he sighs, and sets about finishing his own flask. When he's done, he will wipe at his mouth and tuck the reassembled flask under his arm, even as his free hand sneaks its way back to Liem's waist. ]
The worse crime of the night was your father making you host.
[ The night before his wedding, especially. The wedding that Liem clearly didn't want and hadn't chosen to have -- it seems exquisitely cruel, now that he thinks back on it. No wonder Liem had not been keen on meeting him.
His gloved hand finds Liem's jaw, tilts his face up as Cardan steps into him. ]
It was your servants that surprised me.
Elowyn could not tell me much about you, when the arrangements were being made. I thought this meant that you were probably horrible. [ His smile is quick, a little rueful. ]
But when we were heading back to our rooms, you spoke to the staff like you knew them.
[ And they, in turn, seemed happy for Liem, rather than terrified of him. ]
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Though if he considers it, those two words describe many of his interactions with his husband.]
I prefer not to be horrible to people who depend on me.
[He says this wryly, warmly conscious of the feel of leather against his jaw, and of his husband’s breath escaping in slivers of fog between them. The handsome flush beneath Cardan’s skin and his deep-forest scent make him seem like spring’s herald, promising the return of green and vital things. He tips his face eagerly toward him.]
But… I volunteered to host. It gave me something to do.
[It had given him something about the arrangement, at least, that he could control.]
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[ That is news to him, actually, though he can’t say he’s particularly surprised. Elfhame was the closest he’s ever come to wrestling Liem into idleness, and even then his husband had found a way to impose structure onto his evenings.
This does little to change his poor opinion of his father-in-law, even though he does owe Iago a debt of gratitude: after all, if he had never brokered their marriage, Cardan would have not found himself here. He cannot rightly call this happiness -- not when he can't even imagine surviving to this time next year, not when it feels like any moment someone could come ruin it for him. But maybe, for creatures like them, this fragile, stolen joy is the next closest thing.
He does not know if he's ever wanted something so terribly as he wants to be proven wrong. ]
Finish your wine, husband, [ he says, even though he is going to lean in and kiss Liem, giving him no chance to drink his wine at all. ]
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When he melts into the kiss that Cardan steals from him, it’s with something like relief. A silly feeling to have, when kisses from his spouse certainly haven’t been in short supply; but ever since their trip to Elfhame, the greed that surfaces in him whenever he thinks of his husband has tormented him at every opportunity. Insinuating himself into Cardan’s embrace feels ever more like tasting something fleeting and forbidden, and he cannot stop himself from craving more: more of his kisses, more of his touch, more of his hunger and his tenderness and that strange reverence that makes Liem’s heart constrict in his chest.
He does not want to stop kissing him; and he doesn’t stop, not for a very long moment. He stretches up instead, chasing his mouth with gentle, wanting kisses now spiced and warm from drink. Only after he has left his husband thoroughly breathless will he consent to pull back—and lift his flask so he can drain the rest of it in one long, intent-filled motion.]
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When Liem pulls back to finish his wine, Cardan's hand slips down to brush his throat, fingertips deliberate in following the way it moves as he swallows. His black gaze on Liem is no less intent. Desire has coiled in his abdomen, has slithered down his spine, teased keen by the taste of his husband's mouth.
But then, surely Liem can tell.
He doesn't give either of them much time to recover before he kisses Liem again, hungry and insistent. After all, his husband took such effort to warm up for him -- who is he to waste such a gift? ]
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It certainly doesn’t stop the shiver of lust that slides right down to his thighs at the caress of Cardan’s fingers over his neck. He feels electrically aware of the dark eyes fixed on him, the arm wrapped around his waist, the tail brushing the back of his leg. As Cardan leans in again, the chill breeze slips from his thoughts without fuss, along with any concerns about keeping balanced on the ice. He is much too absorbed in the press of his husband’s body against him, and the thrill of teasing Cardan’s desire hotter along with his own.
Something that would be easier with free hands. He addresses this problem with brisk efficiency, tossing first the lid and cork, then his flask itself at the riverbank, where all three objects plunge into the fluffy layer of snow. This makes it much more feasible for him to slide an arm over his husband’s shoulders, keeping him conveniently close while Liem tastes the shape of his mouth. And if his free hand is also hungry in its wandering down Cardan’s chest and flank, surely that cannot be considered threatening while his hands remain gloved.]
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No, he is not worried about Liem's hands. He's worried about his own -- and the places they cannot go right now. The one at Liem's back slides down, long fingers squeezing at the curve of his ass, shamelessly greedy.
He is still breathless when he pulls away next; his own heartbeat thunders in his ears. ]
If you wish to keep me out longer, you will... [ He has to pause, catch his breath; his forehead drops to Liem's shoulder as he does. ] You'll have to cease... ah, making me want to haul you back to the house.
[ He would. He wants to. Never mind that he's supposed to be cheating, and carrying his husband through the manor is probably antithetical to that. Then again, the staff should be under no illusion about the extent of their physical intimacy. ]
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It is surely too cold out here for his husband to go much further, but Liem has never claimed to not be a tease.]
How am I meant to do that?
[Redirection, he supposes. His husband is a greedy man; perhaps he can appeal to one of his other hungers. His hands wander to Cardan’s back, insatiably restless.
But he tips his face when Cardan leans against his shoulder, pressing warm kisses against the chilly shell of his ear. The novel sensation brings an amused frown to his brow.]
Your poor ear feels like one of mine. Perhaps I should bring you back in after all.
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He lifts his head, taking a moment to peer at Liem’s face — which is a mistake, after all, because looking at that serious mouth ever makes him want to kiss it again. And again, and again, until he probably would freeze to an ice block, standing right here. The pointy tips of his ears do ache, when he bothers paying attention to them. ]
No, [ he says, with all the stubborn determination of a princely tyrant. ] My husband has promised me a skate into the forest. I wish to have it.
[ His eyebrows lift, suggestive. ]
As much as I also wish to have you.
[ But there will be time for that, surely, once they’re done with their adventure. Provided neither of them falls in the river before then— but he squashes the thought with cold determination, even as he straightens fully. ]
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Then you will.
[The arm around his husband’s shoulders retreats until his gloved hand can linger, very briefly, at Cardan’s face. He will keep his husband close for only a moment more, cupping the back of his neck so he can lean up and press a kiss against the chilly tip of his nose.
Then he does release him, his cheeks tinted faintly from the wine as he retrieves the discarded flasks to replace them in his bag. The bag he slings back over his shoulder to take with them, though for once he will not fuss over Cardan if his husband seems ill-inclined to re-don his coat. If he feels warm enough without it, well, he surely knows best.
But he will take his husband’s hand again, before they delve upriver into the woods.]
Let us make the most of it.
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It is effective, regardless.
Less effective: his attempts to ignore the undue worry about the cold. The discarded coat lies in a forlorn heap on the ice where he'd left it; typically, Cardan would not give it a second thought, happily skating off into the moonlight with Liem's hand in his, consequences be damned. Now, tonight, he is experiencing an uncharacteristic moment of doubt.
...but it's heavy, and he suspects he has about an equal chance of getting too warm as he is of freezing. He ends up compromising by keeping his thick woolen scarf about his neck.
As it turns out, he chooses correctly. It is a clear, still night, and though the frost nips at his ears and his nose, their brisk pace keeps him warm enough. He grows bolder, too -- letting go of his lover's hand occasionally to skate over to a particularly interesting bit of shore or stretch up to touch the branches of a willow bent low by snow.
And if he steals icy kisses from Liem's lips each time he returns to his side, well, surely the heat that pours off of him is enough for them both. ]
This isn't so difficult, [ he will proclaim eventually, glancing at Liem. His half-smile gleams with a strange bit of mischief. ] Perhaps we should race.
[ Well, they are on their way back, and he is impatient to get his chilled husband into a hot bath. Not to mention, the cold is starting to gain ground; his tail has ceased its coiling motions in the night air, and instead plastered itself to his leg. ]
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And as always, the novelty of meandering from one bank to the other makes Liem feel like he is getting away with something—especially when Cardan is so happy to gift him with stolen kisses in the ice’s midst.]
Bored with our current pace, are you?
[Liem aims a raised eyebrow Cardan’s way, intrigued at the suggestion of such a contest.]
Back to the forest’s edge?
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Certainly.
[ But he doesn't let go of Liem's hand, not yet; in fact, he slows down to a stop. His free hand will reach up to his throat to pull off-- his ascot, buried as it has been under layers of heavy scarf. ]
But you have an advantage, husband.
[ Aside from the fact that Cardan has only just learned how to skate, he is no vampire, and certainly not possessed of the kind of speed capable of keeping up with a hunting pack of wolves.
He reaches up, the pale blue silk of his tie clutched between his fingers; the fabric is still skin-warm. Those same fingers brush against Liem's temple.
His smile grows contemplative. ]
I think it only fair that we should even out the playing field.
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You so love to make my life difficult.
[His eyes slide over the undone silk as he makes this observation; there are very few uses he can imagine the tie fulfilling at the moment, and one of them seems distinctly likely to send him skating into a snowbank.
But the relaxed, upright line of his body is free of apprehension, and his eyes smile a little as he squeezes his husband’s gloved hand—and gently releases it, sliding his arms loosely about Cardan’s waist instead.]
I will be sporting, even though I suspect my husband of inventing reasons to pull tricks on me. You may have your concession.
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You are too suspicious.
[ Suspicious and unjust; what else could Cardan call these accusations? ]
You ought to know by now that I need no reason to trick you. [ Aside, perhaps, from the fact that Liem so transparently enjoys it. ] And besides, this is hardly an obstacle for you.
[ He leans in, taking the silk of the tie between both his hands. For all of Cardan's protests, at least one of Liem's suspicions is right: he does intend to blindfold his husband. The gesture with which he slides the fabric over Liem's eyes is carefully deliberate; he takes his time with it, lining it up just so. ]
Or are you telling me you would not hear me, husband?
[ The slice of his skates on the ice, yes -- but also his heartbeat, all the more impertinent for the exercise he's about to put it through. His mouth moves against Liem's ear, his murmur low, even as clever fingers tie the knot at the back of Liem's head. ]
Surely a predator hunts with all of his senses.
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Oh—?
[His tone is curious, even as Cardan dips to murmur at his ear. The brush of lips there brings Liem’s mind to distracting places, which is likely at least partially to blame for the way he’s now allowing his spouse to tie a blindfold on him in the midst of the woods. Cardan really does have such a talent for getting him to agree to stupid things.]
Am I meant to be hunting you? I thought you wished to race. In that case I would want you behind me.
[The way his hands wander down to Cardan’s hips insinuates a more intimate meaning, though his blindfolded face remains unreadable.]
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He does want to be behind his husband. And on top of him. And a couple of other things, besides, all of which -- no doubt -- will reflect in his heart rate. But he cannot have the thing he wants out on the ice, and so he will only press a kiss to Liem's ear before straightening.
As it turns out, seeing the blindfold has an effect on his heart rate too. It seems foolish, all of a sudden, that he'd waited until now to inflict this upon Liem. His gloved thumb finds the edge of the silk, follows the line of it over Liem's cheek, down the sharp slant of his cheekbone and to his mouth.
And since Liem cannot see him, there is no need to hide the strange tender longing that presses up against Cardan's ribs when he looks at him. His thumb traces the curve of Liem's lower lip. ]
Then I suppose you're facing quite the dilemma. Devouring, or being devoured yourself.
[ The thumb presses down, gentle but insistent, dimpling the soft flesh of Liem's lip, feeling it yield. He is seized, unbidden, by his lover's assertion earlier -- that he wouldn't want to spoil Cardan by being on his knees too often. Perhaps Liem is right. And still, and still, Cardan can hardly think of a thing he could want more, just then, with the blindfold over Liem's eyes and that dangerous mouth at his mercy.
It's difficult to keep it out of his voice. ]
An unenviable choice. Which will it be?
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Given the subtle excitement of the pulse thumping beneath Cardan’s skin, he wishes very much that he could see his face.]
How is it unenviable?
[Roused as it always is by Cardan’s touch, desire coils impatiently in him: the want for his insatiable husband to devour him utterly, to leave nothing unsampled and nothing unclaimed. But in truth the insatiable one must be Liem, because no amount of indulging Cardan’s greed has ever been able to quiet his longing. And even then, as desperate as he is to be claimed, he also cannot deny his simmering, slow-growing hunger to have his husband at his mercy.
Liem’s lip presses back against the smooth leather when he speaks, resisting just a little. Though his mouth remains serious, curiosity warms his tone.]
Whichever way the results fall, I receive something I want.
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[ He's staring, he knows. He cannot help it. If he stared any harder, he'd be worried that Liem could feel the sear of it on his face, blindfold or no. It's just that Liem's mouth feels so pliant under Cardan's touch -- just that the parting of his lips is so inviting. He wants to press his fingers inside that willing mouth; the thought spikes through his veins with sharp need, heady and hot like the rush of hard liquor. His breath skips with the intensity of it.
It's too telling. It feels too dangerous to let Liem know just how completely he has Cardan in his grasp. And still he cannot help leaning in, close enough that his mouth nearly touches his husband's. ]
Come, then, [ he breathes, against Liem's skin.
And then he is gone.
It is, granted, a little abrupt, and perhaps not as elegant as he could have hoped for -- he's not yet proficient at manoeuvring on the ice. He more pushes Liem from his grasp than he pulls away from him, but it doesn't matter. Even with the blindfold, he doesn't particularly expect to win.
But there is some hidden thrill in this, too -- to expecting Liem to be on his heels, even now. Cardan doesn't look back as he takes off, wind rushing loud in his ears.
The shore isn't so far. Perhaps he even has a chance, however small it may be. ]
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But he has tonight, and after all, what is life but a parade of sacrifices of some kind or another? He cannot begrudge the loss of unknown pleasure when Cardan’s breath is still warm on his lips.
And then it is not. His husband pushes away suddenly—a not terribly sporting beginning for their little contest—leaving Liem grasping empty air. He takes off after him with a short, accusatory laugh, following the sound of his skates, of his breaths, of his heart, keeping close on his heels.
Does he dare try to overtake him? He cannot hear the sweep of the riverbank where it meets the ice, or the odd fallen tree where it protrudes from the frozen water. Trying to beat him back to the forest’s edge will probably not net him any worthwhile results.
And yet, he cannot resist the temptation to quicken his pace even so, only seeming to push himself more recklessly as he comes up alongside his spouse. After all, what’s really the worst that might happen?]
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