[Despite years of habit, the helpless giggles his countenance inspires in his husband go a long way to encouraging Liem to leave himself as is, snow-covered and dishevelled. The ragged breaths, the helpless collapse in the snow, the gentle pats to his knee all tickle him with rare delight; the smile makes yearning flutter wildly in his chest.
Ultimately, he cannot quite resist the urge to wipe off his face at least—but snow still collects in significant little clumps in his hair and the folds of his clothing. Some of it dislodges as he pulls himself on all fours out of his miniature crater, leaning over his spouse to cage him against the snowy riverbank.]
Ah—so to bewitch you, all I need sacrifice is my dignity?
[His bright-eyed stare down at Cardan is considering. In contrast to his smile of only a moment ago, he suddenly seems eminently serious.]
[ That clear blue gaze arrests him, as it always does. Something about the rarity of Liem braced over him like this sends his pulse jumping in his throat. He stares back, still a little breathless, but suddenly quite still.
He knows Liem is cold. After all that skating, and the time spent being buried in snow, he must be particularly freezing -- probably as cold as the icy river bank itself.
It's just that suddenly, neither Cardan nor his borrowed prudence seem to care at all. ]
Come here, [ he says, and his gloved fingers slide over the back of Liem's neck, intent on pulling him down so Cardan can kiss him. Just one kiss, he thinks, because Liem will be freezing-- and so he had better pour all of his strange longing and impatient desire into it at once, to last them until they return to the house. ]
[The terrible thing about bracing himself over his husband like this, in the snow and the cold, with Cardan gone still and quietly intent beneath him, is that it makes the possessive longing in him flare so savagely. For all Cardan’s teasing and his murmured confessions during intimate moments, he doubts that his husband actually wants to be possessed in the same way Liem always craves—and Liem so wants to possess him. He cannot stare down into those lovely, hypnotically dark eyes and not want to make Cardan his, in every way he’s longed for and never dared to act upon. The ache of this desire trembles through him like a thunderclap.
The wonderful thing about being over his husband like this is that he looks so kissable, and Liem is perfectly positioned to steal the kiss he so dearly wants.
It is no kindness to either of them for him to cover Cardan’s body with his own when he dips down, coaxed by the hand at his neck—but he does, covetous and eager, alight with longing that slices knife-keen through his restraint. His icy chill makes Cardan’s mouth feel shockingly warm, scorching in the face of his impatience. From his husband’s perspective, he must seem nigh-unbearably frigid.
But not too unbearably, it seems, given the ever-addictive want behind his kiss—and for all that Liem has often saddled Cardan with unasked for consideration, he is in no mood to so inconvenience him now.]
[ Liem is icy. Cardan trembles with it -- and still he presses closer, pulling his husband against him. It doesn't matter. It never mattered. Cardan's greed transcends mere discomfort. He wants him close, wants to feel that hungry mouth against his own, without reason or mercy. Some part of him ever senses the advance of time and of the unseen dangers pursuing them -- feels like every kiss might be his last, and so every kiss must be made to count.
But then, has he ever not lived like that?
When he finally pulls away, he's starting to shiver in earnest. Still, the hands that cup Liem's face are steady. ]
I love seeing you on winter's stage.
[ It's Liem's season: quiet and dark and austere, dangerous and heartbreakingly beautiful all the same. His thumb brushes a crystalline drop of water from Liem's cheek -- a snowflake melted by Cardan's warm breath. ]
[Since the day of their wedding, every kiss he has ever shared with Cardan seems to end too quickly, and this one is no exception. When his lover retreats from him, Liem has to remind himself to have patience, to keep himself from chasing that warm, soft mouth for just one more kiss, and another still. His desire is so keen, and the snow’s chill so unimportant, that he comes close to forgetting the cold altogether; as long as Cardan wants him, he cannot find it in him to care about anything else.
But Cardan’s touch arrests him. Even if caution no longer bridles him, the tender hands framing Liem’s face check him completely; so do the tender words.
The sentiment catches him by surprise. He is startled to find himself feeling not just valued, but valuable—perhaps even, for the briefest moment, like someone Cardan might actually want to be married to.
Briefly, his own pale, snow-frosted fingers lift to cover Cardan’s gloved ones. He wants to hold onto that feeling for as long as he can.]
Then I shall.
[He sits up, keeping his husband’s fingers caught in his for just a moment longer, until he must again crawl off him and pull the glove back onto his hand. The makeshift blindfold he shoves into a pocket with a wry little smile.]
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no subject
Ultimately, he cannot quite resist the urge to wipe off his face at least—but snow still collects in significant little clumps in his hair and the folds of his clothing. Some of it dislodges as he pulls himself on all fours out of his miniature crater, leaning over his spouse to cage him against the snowy riverbank.]
Ah—so to bewitch you, all I need sacrifice is my dignity?
[His bright-eyed stare down at Cardan is considering. In contrast to his smile of only a moment ago, he suddenly seems eminently serious.]
A small price to pay for so rich a reward.
no subject
He knows Liem is cold. After all that skating, and the time spent being buried in snow, he must be particularly freezing -- probably as cold as the icy river bank itself.
It's just that suddenly, neither Cardan nor his borrowed prudence seem to care at all. ]
Come here, [ he says, and his gloved fingers slide over the back of Liem's neck, intent on pulling him down so Cardan can kiss him. Just one kiss, he thinks, because Liem will be freezing-- and so he had better pour all of his strange longing and impatient desire into it at once, to last them until they return to the house. ]
no subject
The wonderful thing about being over his husband like this is that he looks so kissable, and Liem is perfectly positioned to steal the kiss he so dearly wants.
It is no kindness to either of them for him to cover Cardan’s body with his own when he dips down, coaxed by the hand at his neck—but he does, covetous and eager, alight with longing that slices knife-keen through his restraint. His icy chill makes Cardan’s mouth feel shockingly warm, scorching in the face of his impatience. From his husband’s perspective, he must seem nigh-unbearably frigid.
But not too unbearably, it seems, given the ever-addictive want behind his kiss—and for all that Liem has often saddled Cardan with unasked for consideration, he is in no mood to so inconvenience him now.]
no subject
But then, has he ever not lived like that?
When he finally pulls away, he's starting to shiver in earnest. Still, the hands that cup Liem's face are steady. ]
I love seeing you on winter's stage.
[ It's Liem's season: quiet and dark and austere, dangerous and heartbreakingly beautiful all the same. His thumb brushes a crystalline drop of water from Liem's cheek -- a snowflake melted by Cardan's warm breath. ]
But you ought to take me home now.
no subject
But Cardan’s touch arrests him. Even if caution no longer bridles him, the tender hands framing Liem’s face check him completely; so do the tender words.
The sentiment catches him by surprise. He is startled to find himself feeling not just valued, but valuable—perhaps even, for the briefest moment, like someone Cardan might actually want to be married to.
Briefly, his own pale, snow-frosted fingers lift to cover Cardan’s gloved ones. He wants to hold onto that feeling for as long as he can.]
Then I shall.
[He sits up, keeping his husband’s fingers caught in his for just a moment longer, until he must again crawl off him and pull the glove back onto his hand. The makeshift blindfold he shoves into a pocket with a wry little smile.]
Just as soon as I retrieve my skate.