[ He would like Liem's hands more if they were elsewhere, but that's not really the point. The look he directs towards the pair of vampires is unabashedly smug. He feels flushed with the pleasure of Liem's ready defense of him; somehow, he never expects to find himself protected in this way.
Or maybe he's just flushed in general. With Liem up, his restless hands slide down to settle naturally on his husband's waist. He wants to slip under the layers of clothing, over bare skin-- caught by the ever-present longing for the comfort of Liem's body under his hands.
That's not the priority now. He knows this. Still, his thumbs stroke restlessly over the fine wool of Liem's waistcoat, unable to keep still. He's unable to keep the grin off his face, either. ]
These tedious creatures, [ he tells Liem, with the overly precise diction of a man who is aware that he might slur his words otherwise, ] are unworthy of your attention.
At least-- [ He will stand, too, actually. Easier to leave this way, which he would like to do. ] --none have ever accused me of being dull.
[A few things become clear to Liem in quick succession. The first is that doing damage control while managing his husband is going to be an impossibility; Cardan’s intoxication has clearly turned him quite single-mindedly to mischief, and damn the consequences. Every moment he and the Birds remain in the same room provides him space to deepen the trench his misbehaviour has already dug them into.
The second is that Cardan is more intoxicated than he has any right to be, more intoxicated than Liem has ever known him to be, and Liem has no idea what foolishness he might indulge in while so addled.
Both realizations suggest they should leave immediately.]
You’ll have to excuse us. I must take my husband home.
[He is still looking at the Birds, and it takes all his concentration to continue giving them his stern focus when everything in him wishes to turn and frown worriedly into his husband’s face instead. The eager tempo of Cardan’s heart flutters insistently at the edges of his awareness, demanding his attention in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of the night Cardan had ended up passed out on his study floor.
He does look at Cardan then, though he makes himself remain composed about it, as stern with his husband as he’d been for the attorneys.]
Let’s go, Cardan.
[He steps close, and one of the hands that had been bracketing his husband’s shoulders now slides to the small of Cardan’s back—underneath his arm, so he might shift to something more supportive if Cardan’s balance proves unreliable.
He does not glance behind them. The attitudes of Mr and Ms Bird do not give him much hope that they will ever be welcomed back.]
[ Liem's stern face makes Cardan grin again; this is not Liem's intended outcome, he is aware, but it is hardly his fault that his husband looks so endearing. Cardan enfolds that serious, handsome face in his restless hands, gentle as if he were catching a bird. ]
Oh, do not look at me so, [ he will tell Liem, in what might generously be described as a stage-whisper. ] 'Tis but a spot of merriment.
[ He does wish to be merry; it would give him something to do with the insidious energy that dances through his veins. It is starting to feel a little feverish, actually. ]
You know how we fair folk are.
[ Then he leans in to kiss Liem's forehead -- well, the Birds are already angry, so there is hardly any reason not to -- before turning, decisively, to flounce from the room. It turns out that Liem's worries about his balance are, for at least the time being, unwarranted. ]
[No matter how he might attempt to hurry them along, Liem cannot manage to spirit his husband away from the offended pair of attorneys without first putting on exactly the kind of show for them that he’d wished to avoid. He is terribly conscious of the gentle warmth of Cardan’s hands as they frame his face, and of the tender brush of his lips against Liem’s brow. There is no way for him to pretend any of it away, not when he can still feel the Birds’ cross gazes burning into the side of his head.
He can only sweep out of the room in his husband’s wake, focusing on the problem in front of him in order to distract himself from his own pathetic infatuation with his too-charming spouse.]
If this is a game, it is a poor time for one.
[Liem catches up with his husband as hurriedly as appearances allow, striding through the tidy, well-appointed hallways as they make for the exit. Truthfully, he does not suspect Cardan of scheming to turn this boring business meeting into a drunken lark. Even if he expected that kind of sabotage from his husband after the long months of their marriage, he cannot make himself believe that, in the service of such a ploy, Cardan would intentionally get only himself drunk and not Liem.
But he does not wish to think on the alternatives, and in any case, he could not voice them aloud here regardless.]
There is no way they will agree to negotiate again without some steep concessions.
[ He's a little noncommittal about this, because the choice is either to be noncommittal or be distracted from his purpose, which is getting out of the building. For one, because the restless energy under his skin delights in speed-walking. For two, because the rest of said energy is very close to making him do or say some other, more stupid thing, and he's already cost them this one deal.
For three, because he's not entirely sure the lawyers aren't in on it.
It's hard to think -- or rather, it's very easy to think, because his thoughts are going roughly a thousand miles per minute. What's hard is remembering what he was thinking about a moment ago. He grits his teeth, tries to focus. Once they are out and in the carriage-- once it is a good distance away...
He makes it as far as the outside before he turns, grasps Liem's lapels, and leans down to press his forehead against his husband's immaculately suited shoulder. He doesn't particularly know why he does this-- perhaps only because Liem is comforting. ]
You are ever the eye of my storm, [ he murmurs, contextlessly.
He can feel his own heartbeat through his chest, his stomach, his throat. That's probably bad. ]
[Liem cannot decide whether to be relieved by the brisk efficiency with which his husband heads for the door, or unsettled by his uncharacteristic haste. This whole trip has gone askew; ever since Cardan’s outburst knocked it off course, wrongness has crept into little details that Liem previously paid no mind at all. He worries increasingly about the frenetic energy that seems to have infected his spouse, spurring his pace and speeding his heart.
He does not like what it must mean.
It makes retaining his stern disapproval difficult, especially when Cardan halts to lean his overwarm forehead against Liem’s shoulder. Every instinct directs Liem to fold his husband tenderly into his arms and press his lips to his glossy curls; only the fact that they are now plainly in view of the coach driver prevents him.]
Allow me to blow you onward, to the carriage.
[His hands smooth carefully over Cardan’s finely-attired sides as he speaks against his ear, carefully keeping his anxieties from his voice. They simply need to get home, where he will have the means to sort this out. Nothing could be more straightforward.]
[ He doesn't want to detach himself from Liem; he wants to stay there, his eyes closed, smelling his winter smell and feeling the quiet rumble of his voice. For an obstinate moment, he does stay.
Then Cardan sighs and straightens out, and this time he does sway a tiny bit when he does so. But he will catch himself -- he has practice at this, if nothing else -- and ascend inside the carriage, muttering something about dandelion seeds on the wind.
The plush carriage seat is unexpectedly welcome. He still wants to move -- as evidenced by his foot tapping twitchily against the floor, along with his restless hands -- but having something solid to sink against helps. He reaches towards Liem the moment his husband enters the space. Cardan's warm fingers close around Liem's cool ones, and he presses his husband's knuckles to his mouth, breathing against the cool skin, his eyes half-lidded. ]
My nature lends itself too well to ruin.
[ He thinks he should follow up with something comforting, but nothing comes to mind, just then. On the other hand, perhaps things will be easier if Liem is angry with him.
Cardan can't read him. He rarely can, when Liem is upset. ]
[Liem is impatient. He is impatient as he waits tensely for Cardan to peel himself upright and continue to the carriage, he is impatient as he pauses behind his spouse to coolly instruct the driver to hasten them homeward, and he is impatient when he climbs into the carriage, where the only thing he can do on their journey is to simply wait. His impatience makes him poor company, even inside the privacy of their coach; the intense look with which he scrutinizes his spouse as Cardan takes his hand wastes no time on comfort.
Still, he folds himself next to his husband on the seat, his free hand brushing his cheek as he continues to spear him with that hawklike gaze.]
This complication, you mean?
[A charitable way to refer to the debacle in the attorneys’ office. But Liem assumes Cardan isn’t referring to his sudden intoxication and likely poisoning; it would surely be bizarre for Liem to regard such a thing so callously.]
We will address it before long—but later. There is no sense in troubling ourselves with it at the moment.
[At least, there is no point in Cardan doing so. Liem doubts very much that his husband is presently capable of making complicated decisions about important matters—and since Liem would not make any decisions without consulting him, he is better served turning his own thoughts elsewhere as well.]
How are you feeling? You seemed in a hurry to leave.
[ He doesn’t know what he’s expecting — but Liem’s unchanged demeanour once they’re in the privacy of the carriage confirms his suspicions that the irritation was real.
It doesn’t bother him. Very little is capable of bothering him, at the moment — and if Liem keeps his cool hands on his face, he can be as curt as he pleases. ]
I thought dying on their office floor would be embarrassing for everyone.
[ He tips his head, leaning into Liem’s hand on his cheek; his eyes meet his husband’s, undeterred by their sharp examination. If anything, the sight of him makes warm affection bloom in Cardan’s chest — and since his heart is industriously hammering away, it blossoms rather quickly, spreading the flush wholesale.
His hand drops from Liem’s palm to join its twin in wandering aimlessly — over his husband’s flanks, his shoulders, down his chest. He cannot quite keep them still. ]
I don’t think I’m wrong this time.
[ About it being poison. Had he established that context? Maybe not. He’s not sure it matters. ]
[When he hears “stay with me,” Liem’s fingers go very briefly still where they are, caressing Cardan’s flushed cheek. His stare remains absolutely impenetrable.
It’s surely not the most comforting look, but he imagines wild distress would surely be worse. Fortunately, he seems suddenly to have lost contact with the part of him that recalls how to express such things.]
Where would I be going?
[As he murmurs this, he moves his other hand so he can frame Cardan’s lovely face, with its soft mouth and flushed cheeks and beautiful, astonishingly dilated black eyes. Even addled and restless with poison, he remains frighteningly alluring. Or maybe it is just that the threat of losing him makes Liem desperate to remember what it is like to kiss him.
But because a question is no kind of answer at all, he says first, calmly,] I am taking you home, where you can take an antidote. And I am not letting you out of my sight.
[And he leans closer to brush his lips very gently against Cardan’s.]
[ His eyes widen, briefly, at the mention of an antidote. He had— Somehow, that particular solution had never occurred to him at all. Where would Liem get such a thing? Would it even work?
He doesn’t bother thinking about those answers. There’s no point, and anyway, Liem is kissing him, and his cool palms on Cardan’s face are such a relief that he cannot bite back a soft, plaintive noise.
The trouble is that Cardan doesn’t want to be kissed very gently. He’s decently — three-fourths of the way, at least — certain that he’s dying; entirely certain that he’s going to be in a lot of trouble even if he isn’t; and the only person he wants near him is kissing him like he suspects Cardan might shatter at any moment.
But Cardan doesn’t feel fragile. He feels overheated and frantic and unpredictable.
His hand slides into Liem’s hair; Cardan presses into him, and kisses him like he wants to be kissed, with all of his savage longing and strange affection and never-ending desire. Because if it is to end, then he’d at least like it to end like this. If all he could do is keep kissing Liem, cradled in his cool hands, until his heart gave out, well— That doesn’t seem too bad of an ending at all. ]
[No matter how he might wish to distract himself on the interminable carriage ride back to the house, no matter how he longs to drown the clamour of his worries in Cardan’s affection, Liem is finding to his dismay that even his wanting for his husband cannot seem to escape the yawning pit of his despair. He wants so badly to take comfort in the heated mouth on his, the fingers in his hair and the shape of Cardan’s body pressed against him. Sliding a hand down to twine his arm around his husband, he squeezes him close and keeps him here, in the circle of his embrace, as though by holding him close he could stave off even the effects of poison.
It doesn’t matter. Even the reality of the man in his arms fades beneath the oppressive shadow of his fear, making everything else feel distant and untethered. It is as if another man is kissing his lover in his stead, and he is simply watching as the relentless speeding of that heartbeat drums incessantly in his ears.
He cannot remember ever in his life being so terrified. Even the assassin with her silver blades had not made him feel so pathetically small and helpless.
His mouth moves against Cardan’s.] Cardan. [He hears himself speak, like a recording he just pressed “play” on. He feels his lungs breathe the words.] I’m not going to let anything happen to you.
[ He feels strange. Tired and wound at the same time; his breath is coming a little too fast, now. All of that could not have kept him from losing himself in Liem, but--
But Liem insists on speaking -- on making promises he can't possibly fulfill, interrupting Cardan's ardent attempt to think no further than the next three seconds at a time. For a moment, it is Cardan's turn to be angry. When he pulls away, the look he throws at Liem is sharply betrayed. ]
Things are happening to me, [ he points out, testily. ] Dull, predictable things.
[ I told you so, he doesn't quite say. Obviously, Dain was going to return for his pound of flesh eventually, no matter how foolishly optimistic Liem insisted on being. ]
Must we focus on this now?
[ But he knows what the answer is. For all that Cardan bills himself as ungovernable, there is no question as to which of them is the more obstinate man. ]
[If Liem was still capable of reacting to such things, the reply his husband flings at him might well wound him further. He is trying his hardest, in his own way, to avoid confronting the possibility of Cardan’s looming demise. He has to believe that he will be able to solve this problem, because whenever his thoughts stray close to considering the alternative, his imagination fails him altogether. As if to cocoon himself from the enormity of his own dread, he cannot make himself envision a future in which Cardan is not made well.
But the dismay the angry little jab evokes feels far away, and he only looks soberly back at his husband, cool fingers still resting lightly against his neck.]
I can think of nothing else, [he observes, as if this should be obvious. He should be apologetic, probably. Even if he cannot make himself stop thinking about Cardan’s racing heart for the minutes remaining between them and their arrival at the house, he recognizes the callousness in forcing Cardan to be aware of it also. Liem wants so terribly to make things better, and as ever it seems he is only capable of making things worse.]
I’m sorry. You are right; you should not have to. I will take care of it.
[ Cardan is suffering the creeping realization that he's far too addled for this. He still can't really parse Liem's expression, and, increasingly, his husband's intent is eluding him also. He had expected Liem to either care too much or be indifferent entirely -- not this strange state in which he's clearly upset, but not in a way Cardan knows to do anything with.
He's staring. He doesn't know how long he'd been staring before he even realizes. His jaw tightens; something in his expression snaps shut. With an effort he didn't know he had in him, he pulls himself away from the balm of those cool hands. This is sulky and immature, but he may or may not be racing towards oblivion, and he'd rather still keep some of his pride. His husband is -- quite clearly -- not here to comfort him, superficially or otherwise, and Cardan suddenly feels stupid for wanting such a thing in the first place. Stupid, too, to feel so hurt by it. Liem owes him nothing of the sort.
He's a young boy again, trying to convince himself that he doesn't mind curling up in the stables to sleep.
Still. He leans his forehead against the wall of the carriage, closes his eyes, and endeavours to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride home. There's no telling what might leap out if he doesn't -- and, anyway, his head is spinning quite badly now. Perhaps better to think of nothing at all. ]
[The gulf that presently lies between Liem and his husband, between Liem and everything, makes it feel almost inevitable when Cardan pulls away. Whatever words or actions would bring his husband the comfort he actually wants, Liem cannot manage them now. He can only watch him withdraw and lean against the carriage wall, too numb and too despondent to do more than gaze after him.
Cardan does not look well, now. He looks ill, or perhaps just tired, as he rests his brow against the jostling wall beside them. Only, the sound of his heart beating frantically against his ribs is the opposite of restful. It sounds like his pulse is racing the spurred-on horses pulling their coach—and anxiously, Liem supposes it is. It does him no good to have thoughts like this, but he cannot make himself stop. He cannot stop his mind from racing both pulse and steed, even though this contest is one he cannot even enter, much less win.
It’s a horrid way to spend the ride back to their only hope of respite. Even if Cardan will not speak to him, or even look at him, and even if having Cardan in his arms brought him no comfort, it feels worse to not be touching him at all. As the carriage speeds on, he reaches for Cardan’s hand so he can clasp it tightly, twining their fingers together as though he intends to never free them again. It grounds him a little; focusing on that warmth, he can at least attempt to think of something other than the slowly increasing tempo of Cardan’s heart.
But he is silent, and will be until the dense forest surrounding the estate gives way to gently rolling hills—upon which, in the near distance, the ancient stone manor sprawls. Only then will he speak.]
[ He lets Liem take his hand, and stubbornly thinks nothing about it. It's easy enough; his thoughts have become increasingly confused, fragile as dried flowers under a careless touch.
So he doesn't think about it, even though the grip of his own hand is no less tight, and grows tighter as the discomfort of his racing heart mounts. By the time Liem speaks to him, he is quite disoriented. He will look up, blinking at his husband, unfocused.
Getting up does not go well.
For one, he is too tall to stand up fully in the carriage -- a fact he has evidently forgotten about. Not that he makes it that far, only rising half out of his seat before his vision goes black (familiar) and the carriage spins (ditto), and he crumples back onto the seat rather helplessly. The curse he spits out would make many a sailor blush with envy. ]
...where--
[ No, never mind. He doesn't care. ]
May have to... bring it out... to me.
[ Especially since he has to breathe between words, now. Anyone with eyes would know something was wrong with him, even if he could make it onto his feet. ]
[As soon as he sees Cardan’s eyes blink open, Liem knows his husband is not going to be able to stride back to their rooms as he’d done on the way to the carriage. Watching him attempt to stand makes Liem’s heart leap into his throat; his grip on Cardan’s hand tightens instinctively, then pulls away entirely as he moves to half-kneel over his husband, one knee on the bench and his hand braced lightly against the wall.]
I said I’m not letting you out of my sight.
[As the carriage comes to a halt in front of the house, Liem loosens his tie and hastily thumbs his collar undone. He is stooping over his ailing spouse when he hears the footman approach the carriage door.]
Hold onto me, lover.
[And he slides an arm around him, scooping Cardan into his embrace as the carriage door opens. Liem ignores the footman entirely, but when he strides through the house’s entrance and blows straight past the servants moving to take his coat, the look he aims their way dares them to think twice about his new passion for bearing his spouse back to their rooms.]
[ He doesn't have much time or capacity for surprise; if anything, what flares is irritation. It is very like Liem to ignore him on something like this -- more so because it's embarrassing, and will no doubt tank his reputation amongst the staff even further.
But he doesn't have the breath to protest it, either. It's all he can do to wind his arms around Liem's neck -- resisting the urge for a bit of recreational throttling -- and bury his burning face against his husband's conveniently exposed throat. It's strategic; he doesn't want anyone to see his face, and it hides how out of breath he is.
...and it feels lovely, of course. Even after all this, touching his husband's bare skin feels like a balm. He inhales Liem's scent and feels more irritation, this time at himself, for feeling so comforted by it. How stupid, to fall prey to a thing that will only break his heart.
Though, admittedly, Dain might just save Liem the trouble. ]
[If Cardan is annoyed by the liberties Liem takes with his person, well, he was already angry to begin with. Liem might argue that leaving his husband in the carriage until he’s well enough to leave would be too suspicious, but really, he is motivated only by urgency. The thrumming of Cardan’s heart as he holds him to his chest propels him through the manor’s long, dimly-lit halls, seeking the privacy of their rooms, and the small box he tucked away within after their return from Elfhame. He scarcely acknowledges the occasional servant they pass by, and his expression retains its self-satisfied air only by dint of unfaltering effort on his part.
Even the brief journey through the house seems almost unending.
At least, though his hands are occupied, Liem is not troubled by any closed doors. The house sweeps them open for him as always, and when finally they pass through the doors to their rooms, the heavy wood clicks shut behind them just as smoothly. Liem hastens on to the bedroom, where he deposits Cardan on the bed with surprising gentleness, considering how brisk his hurry.]
Wait just a moment, [he implores quietly. Cardan’s heartbeat continues to pulse frantically in his ears. They are so close, now. Surely now that they have made it here, now that Liem can fetch Cardan the antidote, everything will be fine. He so badly needs everything to be fine.]
[ After the frantic, shaky rush of the carriage, after the blur of being carried through velvet-dark halls, their bedroom feels blissfully still and isolated. Cardan sags against the pillows, for once without commentary.
Wait just a moment, Liem says, as if he has any other choice. The room is still spinning, for one, which means that he wisely elects to keep his eyes closed. He wants -- badly -- to sink into the plush bed and curl up into himself, as if that would stop the feverish heat or rapid palpitations shaking him now, but-- no. Not yet, he tells himself. Not until Liem returns.
Instead, he keeps himself stubbornly propped up on an elbow and uses his other hand to unbutton his waistcoat, then his shirt -- his tie has disappeared somewhere already. Even the air he breathes out feels uncomfortably hot, like it's coming from a furnace.
And he waits. And he waits. And he thinks, miserably, that maybe he doesn't want to die after all, now that they're already here. ]
[Almost as soon as he has laid his husband down, Liem is moving again, darting off to plunder the ornate writing desk sitting in one corner of the room. Buried at the rear of one of the drawers is the little box he’d secreted away in his luggage on the return trip from Elfhame. He’d hidden it away as a precaution, in case of some snooping spy or thief, and the added effort required to reveal the hidden compartment makes his teeth clench with impatience.
Even so, it takes mere moments. There is only one vial of the antidote he needs, and he clutches it close to his chest as he again crosses the room to the bed, where Cardan seems to be attempting to undress. Liem sits on the bed next to him and unstoppers the vial so he can offer it to his spouse, his free hand sliding around to Cardan’s back to help him sit up.]
Here—drink.
[Liem is insistent. They took far, far too long to get here. He mislikes Cardan’s flushed, drugged look, mislikes the haste of his breaths and the unsteadiness of his hands. He looks and sounds unwell, and Liem does not know how unwell he can become before his body gives out, or how effective the antidote is meant to be.]
[ Liem's reappearance is very nearly startling; he tenses a little at the dizzying sensation of being sat up. His palm presses to the sheets -- but it's more show than effect, and Liem will end up supporting most of his weight.
He cannot say he feels particularly well. Still, he is not dead yet -- as evidenced by the sharp little smile he manages to flash at his husband. ]
I so love... ha... watching you lie.
[ Then he will close unsteady fingers over Liem's wrist, so he may pull the vial closer -- he doesn't trust himself with it, not quite -- and swallow down its contents in-between shallow breaths.
Then make a disgusted face.
He doesn't know what he expects to feel; certainly there is no immediate, magical relief, which is a little nerve-wracking. None of the court gossip he'd heard paid much attention to the immediate aftermath of unsuccessful poisonings, and he hadn't bothered thinking past this point at any point in their journey. He realizes, with some dismay, that he has entered a twilight state between "probably dead" and "perhaps alive after all." Facing down an indeterminate waiting period before he might find out which is to be his fate is... unappealing.
Not for the first time, he decides hope to be the worst poison of all.
The tension in his supporting arm goes slack; he sags heavily against Liem's hold, though the grip on his husband's wrist does not relent. ]
Stay, [ Cardan says, again, insistently. The carriage and its disappointments seem far away -- an eternity, maybe two. And he doesn't want to be alone. He so very fervently does not want to be alone, no matter how pathetic it might make him look. ]
[Somehow, the familiar weight of Cardan’s body leant against him and the bitter look on his elegant face manage to both comfort Liem, and inspire in him a longing so plaintive and terrible that it seems impossible he could keep it from his expression. He’s not entirely sure he actually has; now that they have reached the sanctuary of their bedroom and the antidote has made its way into his spouse, he has begun to feel a little more like himself, and that makes his lingering terror all the more real. It’s becoming harder to keep any of the emotions churning inside him from spilling miserably out.
But he will stay. Of course he will stay. Still anxiously observing his husband, his intent gaze somewhere between solicitous and greedy, he leans Cardan back down into the embrace of the pillows, crawls onto the bed next to him, and finally wraps around him, gingerly, as though trying to recall how such a thing was done.
He does not so much as pause to remove either of their shoes.]
Cardan.
[His Cardan. His beautiful, difficult, bewildering, irresistible lover, his strangely stubborn spouse, his trusted companion. He cannot fathom being without him. Liem’s fingers find his husband’s dark curls, trace a pointed ear, sneak beneath unbuttoned layers to slide up the feverish skin of his husband’s waist, his regard unfailingly serious all the while.]
[ Fortunately for Liem, his husband is a little too unfocused to decipher the strangeness in his expression. Even if he hadn't been -- all thoughts are wiped from Cardan's head the moment Liem lays himself next to him. They are displaced by inappropriate, entirely premature relief. He can only breathe out, and close his eyes against it, his mouth twisting into something a little desperate. ]
Good, [ he gasps. And then, after a moment, ruefully: ] I like that one... a little... too much.
[ But it doesn't matter: this time, he has asked, and this time, Liem has agreed to stay.
He can't understand why this one thing has become so incredibly important. His chest aches with it, sharp and terrible -- or maybe it's just the exhaustion of a heart pushed beyond its limitations. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He only clutches at Liem and shivers through it -- hard, compulsive shudders, his breath coming in urgent gasps around them.
It's a little bit like sex, except awful. He will keep shivering for some time as the antidote works its way through his system, burning out the poison that had taken hold. For some time, he can focus only on this: Liem's hands on his oversensitive skin, and the steady regard of those pale eyes, and the murmur of husband's quiet voice. Though -- he might have been hallucinating that last one, as he cannot remember anything Liem actually said.
But his heart will eventually slow again, as will his breathing -- though each heartbeat feels a little bruised, still. When he opens his eyes to look at Liem, the surrounding room will stay perfectly still, as well-behaved rooms ought to. ]
Liem.
[ What do you say to a man who has saved your life twice? ]
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Or maybe he's just flushed in general. With Liem up, his restless hands slide down to settle naturally on his husband's waist. He wants to slip under the layers of clothing, over bare skin-- caught by the ever-present longing for the comfort of Liem's body under his hands.
That's not the priority now. He knows this. Still, his thumbs stroke restlessly over the fine wool of Liem's waistcoat, unable to keep still. He's unable to keep the grin off his face, either. ]
These tedious creatures, [ he tells Liem, with the overly precise diction of a man who is aware that he might slur his words otherwise, ] are unworthy of your attention.
At least-- [ He will stand, too, actually. Easier to leave this way, which he would like to do. ] --none have ever accused me of being dull.
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The second is that Cardan is more intoxicated than he has any right to be, more intoxicated than Liem has ever known him to be, and Liem has no idea what foolishness he might indulge in while so addled.
Both realizations suggest they should leave immediately.]
You’ll have to excuse us. I must take my husband home.
[He is still looking at the Birds, and it takes all his concentration to continue giving them his stern focus when everything in him wishes to turn and frown worriedly into his husband’s face instead. The eager tempo of Cardan’s heart flutters insistently at the edges of his awareness, demanding his attention in a way that reminds him uncomfortably of the night Cardan had ended up passed out on his study floor.
He does look at Cardan then, though he makes himself remain composed about it, as stern with his husband as he’d been for the attorneys.]
Let’s go, Cardan.
[He steps close, and one of the hands that had been bracketing his husband’s shoulders now slides to the small of Cardan’s back—underneath his arm, so he might shift to something more supportive if Cardan’s balance proves unreliable.
He does not glance behind them. The attitudes of Mr and Ms Bird do not give him much hope that they will ever be welcomed back.]
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Oh, do not look at me so, [ he will tell Liem, in what might generously be described as a stage-whisper. ] 'Tis but a spot of merriment.
[ He does wish to be merry; it would give him something to do with the insidious energy that dances through his veins. It is starting to feel a little feverish, actually. ]
You know how we fair folk are.
[ Then he leans in to kiss Liem's forehead -- well, the Birds are already angry, so there is hardly any reason not to -- before turning, decisively, to flounce from the room. It turns out that Liem's worries about his balance are, for at least the time being, unwarranted. ]
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He can only sweep out of the room in his husband’s wake, focusing on the problem in front of him in order to distract himself from his own pathetic infatuation with his too-charming spouse.]
If this is a game, it is a poor time for one.
[Liem catches up with his husband as hurriedly as appearances allow, striding through the tidy, well-appointed hallways as they make for the exit. Truthfully, he does not suspect Cardan of scheming to turn this boring business meeting into a drunken lark. Even if he expected that kind of sabotage from his husband after the long months of their marriage, he cannot make himself believe that, in the service of such a ploy, Cardan would intentionally get only himself drunk and not Liem.
But he does not wish to think on the alternatives, and in any case, he could not voice them aloud here regardless.]
There is no way they will agree to negotiate again without some steep concessions.
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[ He's a little noncommittal about this, because the choice is either to be noncommittal or be distracted from his purpose, which is getting out of the building. For one, because the restless energy under his skin delights in speed-walking. For two, because the rest of said energy is very close to making him do or say some other, more stupid thing, and he's already cost them this one deal.
For three, because he's not entirely sure the lawyers aren't in on it.
It's hard to think -- or rather, it's very easy to think, because his thoughts are going roughly a thousand miles per minute. What's hard is remembering what he was thinking about a moment ago. He grits his teeth, tries to focus. Once they are out and in the carriage-- once it is a good distance away...
He makes it as far as the outside before he turns, grasps Liem's lapels, and leans down to press his forehead against his husband's immaculately suited shoulder. He doesn't particularly know why he does this-- perhaps only because Liem is comforting. ]
You are ever the eye of my storm, [ he murmurs, contextlessly.
He can feel his own heartbeat through his chest, his stomach, his throat. That's probably bad. ]
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He does not like what it must mean.
It makes retaining his stern disapproval difficult, especially when Cardan halts to lean his overwarm forehead against Liem’s shoulder. Every instinct directs Liem to fold his husband tenderly into his arms and press his lips to his glossy curls; only the fact that they are now plainly in view of the coach driver prevents him.]
Allow me to blow you onward, to the carriage.
[His hands smooth carefully over Cardan’s finely-attired sides as he speaks against his ear, carefully keeping his anxieties from his voice. They simply need to get home, where he will have the means to sort this out. Nothing could be more straightforward.]
Come, let’s put this place behind us.
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Then Cardan sighs and straightens out, and this time he does sway a tiny bit when he does so. But he will catch himself -- he has practice at this, if nothing else -- and ascend inside the carriage, muttering something about dandelion seeds on the wind.
The plush carriage seat is unexpectedly welcome. He still wants to move -- as evidenced by his foot tapping twitchily against the floor, along with his restless hands -- but having something solid to sink against helps. He reaches towards Liem the moment his husband enters the space. Cardan's warm fingers close around Liem's cool ones, and he presses his husband's knuckles to his mouth, breathing against the cool skin, his eyes half-lidded. ]
My nature lends itself too well to ruin.
[ He thinks he should follow up with something comforting, but nothing comes to mind, just then. On the other hand, perhaps things will be easier if Liem is angry with him.
Cardan can't read him. He rarely can, when Liem is upset. ]
I imagine this is frustrating for you.
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Still, he folds himself next to his husband on the seat, his free hand brushing his cheek as he continues to spear him with that hawklike gaze.]
This complication, you mean?
[A charitable way to refer to the debacle in the attorneys’ office. But Liem assumes Cardan isn’t referring to his sudden intoxication and likely poisoning; it would surely be bizarre for Liem to regard such a thing so callously.]
We will address it before long—but later. There is no sense in troubling ourselves with it at the moment.
[At least, there is no point in Cardan doing so. Liem doubts very much that his husband is presently capable of making complicated decisions about important matters—and since Liem would not make any decisions without consulting him, he is better served turning his own thoughts elsewhere as well.]
How are you feeling? You seemed in a hurry to leave.
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It doesn’t bother him. Very little is capable of bothering him, at the moment — and if Liem keeps his cool hands on his face, he can be as curt as he pleases. ]
I thought dying on their office floor would be embarrassing for everyone.
[ He tips his head, leaning into Liem’s hand on his cheek; his eyes meet his husband’s, undeterred by their sharp examination. If anything, the sight of him makes warm affection bloom in Cardan’s chest — and since his heart is industriously hammering away, it blossoms rather quickly, spreading the flush wholesale.
His hand drops from Liem’s palm to join its twin in wandering aimlessly — over his husband’s flanks, his shoulders, down his chest. He cannot quite keep them still. ]
I don’t think I’m wrong this time.
[ About it being poison. Had he established that context? Maybe not. He’s not sure it matters. ]
You feel lovely. Stay with me, won’t you?
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It’s surely not the most comforting look, but he imagines wild distress would surely be worse. Fortunately, he seems suddenly to have lost contact with the part of him that recalls how to express such things.]
Where would I be going?
[As he murmurs this, he moves his other hand so he can frame Cardan’s lovely face, with its soft mouth and flushed cheeks and beautiful, astonishingly dilated black eyes. Even addled and restless with poison, he remains frighteningly alluring. Or maybe it is just that the threat of losing him makes Liem desperate to remember what it is like to kiss him.
But because a question is no kind of answer at all, he says first, calmly,] I am taking you home, where you can take an antidote. And I am not letting you out of my sight.
[And he leans closer to brush his lips very gently against Cardan’s.]
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He doesn’t bother thinking about those answers. There’s no point, and anyway, Liem is kissing him, and his cool palms on Cardan’s face are such a relief that he cannot bite back a soft, plaintive noise.
The trouble is that Cardan doesn’t want to be kissed very gently. He’s decently — three-fourths of the way, at least — certain that he’s dying; entirely certain that he’s going to be in a lot of trouble even if he isn’t; and the only person he wants near him is kissing him like he suspects Cardan might shatter at any moment.
But Cardan doesn’t feel fragile. He feels overheated and frantic and unpredictable.
His hand slides into Liem’s hair; Cardan presses into him, and kisses him like he wants to be kissed, with all of his savage longing and strange affection and never-ending desire. Because if it is to end, then he’d at least like it to end like this. If all he could do is keep kissing Liem, cradled in his cool hands, until his heart gave out, well— That doesn’t seem too bad of an ending at all. ]
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It doesn’t matter. Even the reality of the man in his arms fades beneath the oppressive shadow of his fear, making everything else feel distant and untethered. It is as if another man is kissing his lover in his stead, and he is simply watching as the relentless speeding of that heartbeat drums incessantly in his ears.
He cannot remember ever in his life being so terrified. Even the assassin with her silver blades had not made him feel so pathetically small and helpless.
His mouth moves against Cardan’s.] Cardan. [He hears himself speak, like a recording he just pressed “play” on. He feels his lungs breathe the words.] I’m not going to let anything happen to you.
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But Liem insists on speaking -- on making promises he can't possibly fulfill, interrupting Cardan's ardent attempt to think no further than the next three seconds at a time. For a moment, it is Cardan's turn to be angry. When he pulls away, the look he throws at Liem is sharply betrayed. ]
Things are happening to me, [ he points out, testily. ] Dull, predictable things.
[ I told you so, he doesn't quite say. Obviously, Dain was going to return for his pound of flesh eventually, no matter how foolishly optimistic Liem insisted on being. ]
Must we focus on this now?
[ But he knows what the answer is. For all that Cardan bills himself as ungovernable, there is no question as to which of them is the more obstinate man. ]
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But the dismay the angry little jab evokes feels far away, and he only looks soberly back at his husband, cool fingers still resting lightly against his neck.]
I can think of nothing else, [he observes, as if this should be obvious. He should be apologetic, probably. Even if he cannot make himself stop thinking about Cardan’s racing heart for the minutes remaining between them and their arrival at the house, he recognizes the callousness in forcing Cardan to be aware of it also. Liem wants so terribly to make things better, and as ever it seems he is only capable of making things worse.]
I’m sorry. You are right; you should not have to. I will take care of it.
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He's staring. He doesn't know how long he'd been staring before he even realizes. His jaw tightens; something in his expression snaps shut. With an effort he didn't know he had in him, he pulls himself away from the balm of those cool hands. This is sulky and immature, but he may or may not be racing towards oblivion, and he'd rather still keep some of his pride. His husband is -- quite clearly -- not here to comfort him, superficially or otherwise, and Cardan suddenly feels stupid for wanting such a thing in the first place. Stupid, too, to feel so hurt by it. Liem owes him nothing of the sort.
He's a young boy again, trying to convince himself that he doesn't mind curling up in the stables to sleep.
Still. He leans his forehead against the wall of the carriage, closes his eyes, and endeavours to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the ride home. There's no telling what might leap out if he doesn't -- and, anyway, his head is spinning quite badly now. Perhaps better to think of nothing at all. ]
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Cardan does not look well, now. He looks ill, or perhaps just tired, as he rests his brow against the jostling wall beside them. Only, the sound of his heart beating frantically against his ribs is the opposite of restful. It sounds like his pulse is racing the spurred-on horses pulling their coach—and anxiously, Liem supposes it is. It does him no good to have thoughts like this, but he cannot make himself stop. He cannot stop his mind from racing both pulse and steed, even though this contest is one he cannot even enter, much less win.
It’s a horrid way to spend the ride back to their only hope of respite. Even if Cardan will not speak to him, or even look at him, and even if having Cardan in his arms brought him no comfort, it feels worse to not be touching him at all. As the carriage speeds on, he reaches for Cardan’s hand so he can clasp it tightly, twining their fingers together as though he intends to never free them again. It grounds him a little; focusing on that warmth, he can at least attempt to think of something other than the slowly increasing tempo of Cardan’s heart.
But he is silent, and will be until the dense forest surrounding the estate gives way to gently rolling hills—upon which, in the near distance, the ancient stone manor sprawls. Only then will he speak.]
Cardan. Husband, we’re here.
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So he doesn't think about it, even though the grip of his own hand is no less tight, and grows tighter as the discomfort of his racing heart mounts. By the time Liem speaks to him, he is quite disoriented. He will look up, blinking at his husband, unfocused.
Getting up does not go well.
For one, he is too tall to stand up fully in the carriage -- a fact he has evidently forgotten about. Not that he makes it that far, only rising half out of his seat before his vision goes black (familiar) and the carriage spins (ditto), and he crumples back onto the seat rather helplessly. The curse he spits out would make many a sailor blush with envy. ]
...where--
[ No, never mind. He doesn't care. ]
May have to... bring it out... to me.
[ Especially since he has to breathe between words, now. Anyone with eyes would know something was wrong with him, even if he could make it onto his feet. ]
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I said I’m not letting you out of my sight.
[As the carriage comes to a halt in front of the house, Liem loosens his tie and hastily thumbs his collar undone. He is stooping over his ailing spouse when he hears the footman approach the carriage door.]
Hold onto me, lover.
[And he slides an arm around him, scooping Cardan into his embrace as the carriage door opens. Liem ignores the footman entirely, but when he strides through the house’s entrance and blows straight past the servants moving to take his coat, the look he aims their way dares them to think twice about his new passion for bearing his spouse back to their rooms.]
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[ He doesn't have much time or capacity for surprise; if anything, what flares is irritation. It is very like Liem to ignore him on something like this -- more so because it's embarrassing, and will no doubt tank his reputation amongst the staff even further.
But he doesn't have the breath to protest it, either. It's all he can do to wind his arms around Liem's neck -- resisting the urge for a bit of recreational throttling -- and bury his burning face against his husband's conveniently exposed throat. It's strategic; he doesn't want anyone to see his face, and it hides how out of breath he is.
...and it feels lovely, of course. Even after all this, touching his husband's bare skin feels like a balm. He inhales Liem's scent and feels more irritation, this time at himself, for feeling so comforted by it. How stupid, to fall prey to a thing that will only break his heart.
Though, admittedly, Dain might just save Liem the trouble. ]
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Even the brief journey through the house seems almost unending.
At least, though his hands are occupied, Liem is not troubled by any closed doors. The house sweeps them open for him as always, and when finally they pass through the doors to their rooms, the heavy wood clicks shut behind them just as smoothly. Liem hastens on to the bedroom, where he deposits Cardan on the bed with surprising gentleness, considering how brisk his hurry.]
Wait just a moment, [he implores quietly. Cardan’s heartbeat continues to pulse frantically in his ears. They are so close, now. Surely now that they have made it here, now that Liem can fetch Cardan the antidote, everything will be fine. He so badly needs everything to be fine.]
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Wait just a moment, Liem says, as if he has any other choice. The room is still spinning, for one, which means that he wisely elects to keep his eyes closed. He wants -- badly -- to sink into the plush bed and curl up into himself, as if that would stop the feverish heat or rapid palpitations shaking him now, but-- no. Not yet, he tells himself. Not until Liem returns.
Instead, he keeps himself stubbornly propped up on an elbow and uses his other hand to unbutton his waistcoat, then his shirt -- his tie has disappeared somewhere already. Even the air he breathes out feels uncomfortably hot, like it's coming from a furnace.
And he waits. And he waits. And he thinks, miserably, that maybe he doesn't want to die after all, now that they're already here. ]
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Even so, it takes mere moments. There is only one vial of the antidote he needs, and he clutches it close to his chest as he again crosses the room to the bed, where Cardan seems to be attempting to undress. Liem sits on the bed next to him and unstoppers the vial so he can offer it to his spouse, his free hand sliding around to Cardan’s back to help him sit up.]
Here—drink.
[Liem is insistent. They took far, far too long to get here. He mislikes Cardan’s flushed, drugged look, mislikes the haste of his breaths and the unsteadiness of his hands. He looks and sounds unwell, and Liem does not know how unwell he can become before his body gives out, or how effective the antidote is meant to be.]
Drink. And then you may have whatever you wish.
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He cannot say he feels particularly well. Still, he is not dead yet -- as evidenced by the sharp little smile he manages to flash at his husband. ]
I so love... ha... watching you lie.
[ Then he will close unsteady fingers over Liem's wrist, so he may pull the vial closer -- he doesn't trust himself with it, not quite -- and swallow down its contents in-between shallow breaths.
Then make a disgusted face.
He doesn't know what he expects to feel; certainly there is no immediate, magical relief, which is a little nerve-wracking. None of the court gossip he'd heard paid much attention to the immediate aftermath of unsuccessful poisonings, and he hadn't bothered thinking past this point at any point in their journey. He realizes, with some dismay, that he has entered a twilight state between "probably dead" and "perhaps alive after all." Facing down an indeterminate waiting period before he might find out which is to be his fate is... unappealing.
Not for the first time, he decides hope to be the worst poison of all.
The tension in his supporting arm goes slack; he sags heavily against Liem's hold, though the grip on his husband's wrist does not relent. ]
Stay, [ Cardan says, again, insistently. The carriage and its disappointments seem far away -- an eternity, maybe two. And he doesn't want to be alone. He so very fervently does not want to be alone, no matter how pathetic it might make him look. ]
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But he will stay. Of course he will stay. Still anxiously observing his husband, his intent gaze somewhere between solicitous and greedy, he leans Cardan back down into the embrace of the pillows, crawls onto the bed next to him, and finally wraps around him, gingerly, as though trying to recall how such a thing was done.
He does not so much as pause to remove either of their shoes.]
Cardan.
[His Cardan. His beautiful, difficult, bewildering, irresistible lover, his strangely stubborn spouse, his trusted companion. He cannot fathom being without him. Liem’s fingers find his husband’s dark curls, trace a pointed ear, sneak beneath unbuttoned layers to slide up the feverish skin of his husband’s waist, his regard unfailingly serious all the while.]
You ever have only to ask.
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Good, [ he gasps. And then, after a moment, ruefully: ] I like that one... a little... too much.
[ But it doesn't matter: this time, he has asked, and this time, Liem has agreed to stay.
He can't understand why this one thing has become so incredibly important. His chest aches with it, sharp and terrible -- or maybe it's just the exhaustion of a heart pushed beyond its limitations. He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He only clutches at Liem and shivers through it -- hard, compulsive shudders, his breath coming in urgent gasps around them.
It's a little bit like sex, except awful. He will keep shivering for some time as the antidote works its way through his system, burning out the poison that had taken hold. For some time, he can focus only on this: Liem's hands on his oversensitive skin, and the steady regard of those pale eyes, and the murmur of husband's quiet voice. Though -- he might have been hallucinating that last one, as he cannot remember anything Liem actually said.
But his heart will eventually slow again, as will his breathing -- though each heartbeat feels a little bruised, still. When he opens his eyes to look at Liem, the surrounding room will stay perfectly still, as well-behaved rooms ought to. ]
Liem.
[ What do you say to a man who has saved your life twice? ]
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