[ 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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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.