[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? ]
[Liem had never imagined he might see his husband like this. Even after Cardan had been wounded by that assassin, his suffering had not seemed so total, nor the threat of death so inescapable. It is horrid to see him look so harrowed and pathetic, wracked by poison and able to voice only the desire to not be left alone through it. He has never looked more in need of comfort, and Liem has never felt less capable of giving it.
Though perhaps he is the one who cannot be comforted just now, while his lover is so afflicted.]
Oh… Sweetest…
[Helplessly, he presses his lips to Cardan’s overwarm forehead, to his pointed nose, to one long-lashed eyelid and one flushed cheek. Each gasping breath and each hard shiver of the body in his arms feeds the hard knot of fears and desperate wants lodged behind his ribs; it grows increasingly difficult to think around, and he suspects that soon enough it’s going to come loose altogether.
But not yet. Not while Cardan is like this. He needs to at least wait until he is well. Please let him be well, please oh please. Desperation winds up in Liem until he has to stop himself from shaking with the tension of it, until he too feels feverish with compulsion despite his efforts to be still. He has to bite his lip to restrain himself, to stop himself from clutching bruisingly at Cardan with all his despairing loneliness.
He doesn’t know when Cardan became so dear to him. He doesn’t know what he will do if he has to go the rest of his life without seeing him again—without ever touching him, or hearing his laugh or his heated murmur, or seeing his sly looks or charming smiles. He doesn’t know how he could weather an eternity of cold, lonely days and tedious nights in a world without Cardan in it.
His relief when Cardan’s heart finally slows is a terrible, bruised thing, and it cannot stopper the feeling of ruin that has been threatening to drown Liem ever since they left the attorneys’ office. He does not even voice a reply when his husband says his name; when Cardan finally opens his eyes, Liem’s despairing expression is quite evidently that of someone trying his hardest not to cry.]
[ He'd been so caught up in his own suffering that Liem's expression takes him aback entirely. Not so long ago, he had thought his husband barely cared at all. How stupid. How incredibly, awfully stupid. For some reason, it makes the ache in his heart twist even keener. That's stupid, too; is this not what he had wanted all along?
His hand finds its way to Liem's face, strokes along his cheek. ]
I'm sorry, [ is what he says, in a move that makes no sense whatsoever. He's not sorry for not dying, and he's not sorry for asking Liem to stay with him, and what else is there to apologize for?
He swallows, his eyes searching Liem's face, uncertain. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of Liem's distress; it's not like any of the other times his husband has been upset.
And-- and surely Liem can tell he's better, just as he could tell when Cardan wasn't. Surely there's nothing to be upset about, anymore. Unless some terrible thing is looming, precipitated somehow on the heels of his poisoning, and he'd just been too sick to notice.
[The hand stroking his cheek is piteously comforting, considering that Liem has suffered no harm and the actual danger to his husband seems to have passed. It pulls a soft, plaintive sound from him, and for a moment he just leans his cheek into the contact, too needy for touch to think better of it. Then his sense of shame catches up with him, and he instead dips his face to press it into the crook of Cardan’s neck, squeezing him close in a way he’d been reluctant to do when his spouse had been so wracked with discomfort.
]
What do you mean? [Liem whispers against the warm, comfortingly familiar curve of Cardan’s throat, trying to focus only on his scent and his shape and his weight lying against him.] You almost died.
[Just speaking it aloud makes heat claw at his throat, makes him press more insistently against his husband, as though seeking shelter in his embrace.]
You were dying, that whole time.
[For the entire journey home, during the passage through the house, even as Liem wrapped himself around Cardan in their room, before the antidote had begun to take effect. He had to watch his husband die slowly for that entire time, not knowing if he would be able to save him, not knowing how painful of an end it would even be. It was horrible. Somehow, it becomes more horrible with each passing moment, now that he has allowed the truth of it to sink in, and it is all he can do not to break down and sob like a child because of it.
But deep in his chest, tamped down with the animal urges to whimper and wail and cry, lies something else familiar: it is the urge to do incredible, unspeakable violence to the one who did this, who would harm him and his so cruelly. His heart bays for blood, just as much as it longs for comfort.]
[ It would be kinder, probably, to let Liem hide against his throat like this, to pet his hair and let him clutch Cardan close. His hand slips into soft hair, intent on doing just that, but--
But he can't. He can't, because he doesn't understand this, any of it. He can't, because he needs to know-- and he needs Liem to understand, too.
It takes a bit of effort. His heart, which has been racing so intently just an hour ago, has decided to become sluggish, and his limbs feel weak. His solution is inelegant: he will wrap his arm around his husband, who has pressed so obligingly close, and then throw his weight strategically to one side, so that they roll.
Because what he wants is this: to be on top of Liem, so that he may press him down into the sheets with the entirety of his solid, real, blood-hot weight, with the heartbeat pumping heavily in his chest. He wants to take that pained face into his hands and look at him, searching for an answer in his expression. ]
I didn't die.
[ So much of Faerie's magic is tied to truth. Glamour, curses, geases -- all just someone's truths spoken into being. He has none of those at his disposal now, but he tries, still, to make the words solid, as real as the weight and the heat of his touch. ]
I'm here. I'm perfectly alive.
[ So there is no reason for Liem to look or sound so heartbroken. None at all. ]
[Wrapped as desperately close around Cardan as he is, Liem is fortunately simple enough to roll over. He offers no resistance as his husband throws his weight atop him, and though he does not feel remotely ready to look anyone in the eye just now, he nonetheless allows Cardan to stare into his.
He feels adrift, now, like his world has been put in a dice cup and shaken around so everything is in disarray. The only thing he’s certain of is that he wants Cardan to keep touching him.
Even if he doesn’t quite understand the look on his husband’s face. Liem would have liked to just lie with him for a while, to just reacquaint himself with the feel of his husband wrapped around him without mortal peril looming over them. Surely Cardan couldn’t have objected.
Perhaps the words his husband offers are meant to be reassuring. The only other thing Liem can think of is that it must be frustrating to Cardan to have to coddle Liem for being upset like this, when he wasn’t even the one who was poisoned. That, more than anything else, makes him try harder to stuff the messy, bothersome feelings wailing away inside his chest back into his mental closet so neither he nor Cardan have to look at them. He didn’t mean to make his husband look at him so, and he doesn’t want to keep causing a scene right after Cardan just spent a considerable stretch being quite ill.]
… Yes. All right.
[He will just… stop being upset about this, as he obviously should. As Cardan would obviously like him to. The despair has receded some now, anyway.
But despite his best efforts, he looks more resigned than reassured.]
[ He doesn't know what he expected, but the flat, quiet response recalls to him nothing so much as their first night as spouses, when Liem had refused to fuck him. Only, Cardan had been trying to be an ass then, and he's very much not trying to be one now.
Bitterness sinks into his stomach like a stone.
Were he a wiser man, he would back off. It isn't strange for Liem not to trust him. His track record speaks for itself; when has he ever been gentle with anyone's feelings, when given the choice?
And what good would come of pushing? Of fighting his husband at a time like this? He has learned to read Liem better with each month he's here; surely, eventually, he won't need his husband to explain himself at all.
But he can't. He can't leave it. He feels angry, all of a sudden, flush with helpless rage and fear and regret. It's selfish, but he knows no other way to be but selfish -- greedy, cruel, heedless of anyone but himself. He opens his mouth-- and snaps it shut again, frustrated. What is there to say to a man who only retreats inward when provoked? ]
Liem.
[ His voice is tight with it. He feels too raw to hide the desperation that threads through. ]
[If Liem has learned one thing over the course of his marriage, it is that he has a talent for making his husband angry when he isn’t remotely trying to. Especially, it seems, when he is upset; when he is off-balance and out of sorts seems to be a prime time for doing things that Cardan finds unbearable. He doesn’t know what this says about him, that his rawest and most unfiltered instincts seem to be so objectionable to the man he cares most for.
His attempt at unaffected calm falters, his face falling when his husband speaks again. From the tightness in his voice, the hint of desperation, Liem suspects Cardan needs him to actually pull himself together, to be present with him, not just shut down and pretend to be fine. But he doesn’t know how to manage this right now.]
I’m sorry.
[He closes his eyes with a murmur, frowning through a long, pensive breath. He is still frowning when he looks up again, though at least he no longer seems actively on the verge of tears.]
I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with this.
[He didn’t rise this afternoon emotionally prepared for the attempted murder of his own husband, and he is beginning to realize that this is not one of those things that gets easier with repetition. In fact, this time has felt worse in every possible way, and he cannot make himself shrug it away and pretend it hadn’t made him feel agonizingly helpless the entire time. It was a very special kind of torture, and yet he has no one to whom he can unburden himself—except the man who just nearly died, who obviously does not need Liem’s suffering to add to his own.]
[ He hates the way his husband's face crumples when he says it; but is that not what he wanted? At least this is real -- at least Liem is showing him his dismay, this time.
He leans in, kisses the corner of Liem's unhappy mouth. He had intended for his weight to be calming, but at this point, it feels more like trapping a small, unhappy animal via brute force.
Because he's selfish, he doesn't relent. ]
I know.
[ At least, he's realized, ever since opening his eyes to find that twisted, painful expression on his husband's face. His thumb strokes along one cheek. ]
I've been afraid since I could remember. I didn't-- I thought it was normal, to be used to it.
[ But Liem hadn't been the unfavoured son of a troublesome courtesan; he was Iago's heir, endowed with power over everyone but his father. Of course he wouldn't know. How stupid, to assume that he might.
He draws in a breath, searching Liem's face again. ]
Let me help you. Please.
[ He doesn't even know if he can. But he knows that he cannot bear the loneliness of being shut out, even if that is selfish too. ]
[Liem’s unhappy resistance to Cardan’s demands is offset considerably by his desire for his husband’s touch. The warmth of Cardan’s lips brushing his mouth and the hands framing his cheeks do much to beat back his reticence; the weight of his husband sprawled over him effectively squashes any nascent ideas of rebellion. If this is the method Cardan has chosen to wrestle cooperation from him, he has chosen well—because Liem wants very much to give in to his husband on any given night, and he especially wants to be able to give him this.
The temptation of letting Cardan truly care for him, for even some small piece of his heart, makes him ache with terrible, lonely desire. He wants to believe that Cardan really does wish to.
It is just that he is afraid to let him, and he is so very out of practice.
But Liem has plenty of practice with longing, particularly longing for his husband. His grip has gone slack with distraction, and now he wraps his arms a little tighter again around Cardan, pressing him close, as he had been before they rolled over. Only this time, he submits to his husband’s desire to retain his view of his face.
Liem’s regard of him is both serious and a little plaintive.]
[ The relief he feels when Liem pulls him close again is probably embarrassingly obvious; he feels his jaw unclench, just a little, feels a smile twitch at his mouth. It's strange to be grateful for something like this -- but what else could he be? And if he wants to kiss Liem again, then surely they both deserve some comfort after the gauntlet they've been through.
He'd guessed wrong so many times this night that it shouldn't surprise him when Liem tells him the next unexpected thing -- but it startles a soft laugh out of him anyway. How like his husband, actually, to turn the tables on him so.
It's troublesome, because he is a hypocrite: he wants to see Liem without being seen at all. ]
I'm not sure if that's possible.
[ Which sounds terribly bleak, when put that way. He shakes his head, then continues. ]
It's not just Dain. My position at my father's court has never been secure. When I agreed to Elowyn's plan, it was because I didn't think it could be any worse, here.
[ ...well, he supposes there is nothing for it: if he is going to get Liem to be honest, then he will have to sacrifice some of his secrets, pathetic as they may make him sound. ]
And I was right. I don't relish being poisoned, but Liem-- I have never had someone protect me like this. I never imagined anyone would.
[ He can't help but sound a little awed about it, even now. That Liem would go to such lengths... That he would look like that, like he might cry-- had anyone ever cried for Cardan, in his entire villainous life? He very much doubts it. ]
[Liem is not comforted when Cardan says he may never be able to escape his fear. If they go to the lengths of surviving Dain’s killers and bringing him down, only for Cardan to still have to look over his shoulder all his life, what is even the point?
Especially when he is right to refer to Iago’s court as such—as somewhere just as dangerous as his original home. The thing keeping him mostly safe from the elder vampire at present, Liem imagines, is simply that Iago has no leverage over him. If he ever discerned something Cardan was obliged to care about, however, his place in the house would become precarious.
That, or if Iago ever learned the depth of his son’s affection for his husband.]
I said I would.
[He’d promised when they were married, and refused to recant after the first time an assassin came for Cardan. Certainly his husband had tried to convince him—for his own good, more like than not. Not that Liem cares much for his own good.]
I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to protect you. I intend to.
[Somehow still lonely for contact, even now, Liem tips his head up to rest his brow against Cardan’s.]
I just didn’t know it would be like this.
[He knew it might be hard. He just hadn’t realized he would become so terrified of failure.]
[ He sighs, because Liem is right; he hadn't known it would be like this, either. He has no recourse for the terror of the moment, and -- if he's honest -- no real understanding for what Liem is feeling. For all that Cardan is afraid, he had never had to worry about anyone else, and he still mostly doesn't; Liem is far better protected than he.
The thought of him actually becoming vulnerable to Dain is terrifying -- far worse than anything Cardan can manage to feel about his own impending doom. He frowns, forcefully pivoting away from imagining this, because now is hardly the time. After all, his husband is here, solid and real, his familiar touch as viscerally comforting as it has ever been. He thinks of his terrible loneliness, back during the carriage ride, and marvels at the foolishness of pride. Why hadn't he just asked Liem to hold him then?
Regardless, he is supposed to be helping.
His fingers stroke through Liem's hair, smoothing out the silver at his temple. They are so close he can feel Liem's cool breath when he speaks -- so close that he cannot help but want to close the remaining distance. So he does, his lips brushing, just barely, against his lover's mouth. ]
Like what, husband?
[ He's made so many wrong guesses already. For once, he thinks he'd rather ask instead. ]
[Liem has been so afraid for so much of the past hour or so that having Cardan touching him like this now, fingers gentle in his hair and lips whisper-soft on his mouth, makes relief ache through him, so urgently he could almost really cry after all. Though he cannot quite allow himself that particular indulgence, and tamps the urge firmly down again, he does press closer to steal another kiss, lingering and urgent with longing. Now that he isn’t numb with terror over his husband’s impending death, all he can think about is drowning himself in him.
It’s ironic that somehow, although Cardan’s heart is the one to have been racing so heedlessly, Liem’s has ended up feeling so bruised.]
I knew I would be afraid, [he murmurs,] but I didn’t know how much.
[Even when the assassin had come for them at that party, he can’t remember feeling nearly so terrified. At first, the fight had just swept him up, muffling everything else—and even after, though his mind had been awhirl with concerns, his fear had not been so great.
But that had been before he let Cardan become so dear to him. It had been before his taste became the only one on Liem’s tongue and his arms came to feel like the only home he would ever need: which is a terrible way to feel for a man who, on some level, must surely hold Liem in contempt. And still, Liem cannot suppress his own desperate attachment to his husband, set down over months and now rooted deep, so intrinsic he doesn’t know how he could possibly burn it out.
But he cannot tell Cardan that, and his husband deserves to understand. So if he cannot tell him the truth, perhaps a truth will suffice.]
You know, I was there… the night my mother was killed.
[He pulls back to say this; swallows, makes himself look Cardan in the eye.]
I was still small. We were taking a carriage somewhere, and when it was attacked she hid me inside the seat. Then she went out, and… I spent what felt like a long time waiting.
[For someone to come: maybe for his mother to return, maybe for some soldier to drag him out. As time had gone on, and it had become quieter, he had worried less for himself—but for his mother, he only worried more. Looking back, he doubts it was much longer than an hour or two, but for him the waiting had gone on forever.]
I hate the waiting most. But when my father found me, and he told me she was dead… [His expression loses some of its steady focus, becomes more distant, and more heartbroken.] I wanted to go back. It had been better, just being afraid.
He strokes Liem's hair as he listens, brow furrowed, and thinks himself a fool for the fiftieth time this night. He had forgotten about Liem's mother entirely. Vampires fear neither old age nor illness; he could have surmised that she must have died violently. He must have surmised it, at one point, and yet he hadn't thought -- had never realized -- that his husband had already suffered this kind of loss.
How terrible it must have been, to lose someone who loved him enough to protect him. He has no recourse for it. How could he? How could anyone?
He envisions the serious child from the family portrait waiting for the woman pictured beside him, and cannot imagine what it must have been like. And what would she have thought of Cardan, who could not leave Liem at all, even when he knew full well that it was cowardice? That it would only endanger him or hurt him? And now it is too late; now leaving would hurt too much. He cannot even pretend that he might do such a thing.
The forlorn look on Liem's face aches like a bruise. ]
She kept you safe.
...as you have me.
[ And he can't help but wonder if she'd been terrified too, leaving her son as she had. ]
[Liem is not entirely happy to be compared to his mother in this circumstance, even if Cardan’s comparison is not actually wrong. For a long time, he had wondered if protecting him had really been her aim when she disappeared into the night, leaving him behind. Even if it really had been, he would not have harboured so much uncertainty—and ultimately resentment—about it if his mother hadn’t prioritized his safety over remaining by his side. He does not relish being the one left behind.
But perhaps he would not be here to have such thoughts if that were the case, and Cardan would be without a husband, so maybe Cardan is right after all. Even if being saved in such a way had only made him unhappy.]
I don’t want to be that frightened, helpless boy again.
[Not when he’s already waded through so much blood to get here. If he can’t even protect his own husband, what good can he possibly be to anyone?
And how could he live with himself if he failed to keep Cardan of all people safe?]
I’m sorry I was out of sorts, Cardan. [He’s earnest, apologetic as he says this. He can’t help but feel like their ride back home was so tense and unhappy mostly because of him.] I just don’t want to lose you, too.
[ Cardan raises an eyebrow. Strangely, Liem's apology shifts the mood -- jolts him out of that painful hole he was about to try and crawl into. It's just that it's so silly. It's silly for Liem to apologize for this, with that earnest look, like he's truly trying to make something right. Like there's anything to make right in the first place. ]
Good thing you were so spectacularly unhelpless that I'm still alive.
[ That's the important part, he thinks, and one that Liem has spent far too little focus on. He glances down at his husband's handsome features, more painfully attractive for all that sincerity. Liem wields it as if it were a weapon. ]
And I shan't accept your apology, Liem Talbott, for you owe no such thing. I should have known better.
Next time, I will disregard your wishes and demand to be coddled regardless.
[ Neither his tone nor his face indicate that he's joking.
Still, it irks him that he cannot promise Liem the things that he wants: that he will stay by his side for as long as Liem needs him -- forever, if they're both not sick of each other by then. But it is not truth, and so he cannot speak it, no matter how much he wishes to.
And he will not waste his time with cheap qualifiers.
So instead he will sigh, and shift his weight for the second time this early morning. This time, it is so he can stop squashing Liem and move to his side instead -- though Cardan still throws an arm over his chest, still tangles his leg in between Liem's, still keeps his face close enough that he needs only murmur to be heard. After all the turmoil of earlier, he is unwilling to separate even for a minute.
Which is why he does not bring up that they're both still wearing shoes. ]
[Cardan’s immediate, stubborn refusal to consider Liem’s apology makes a wry smile curve his lips. It is very like him, to care so little about something Liem insists on fretting over. Even if the fear of the night has not entirely receded, he can’t help but be charmed, which is a boon in this circumstance especially.]
You are incredibly contrary, [he observes, hopelessly fond.
He has had enough tonight of trying to be sensible. It is why, when his husband rolls off to lie against him again, Liem does not attempt to use this opportunity to unlace his boots or shrug free of his coat. He simply continues to wrap himself around Cardan, running his fingers through his hair as he watches him from only a breath away.]
Oh? And what is that?
[Liem regards his husband with rapt attention that is mostly occupied with cataloguing the singular colour of his eyes, the length of his lashes, the angle of his cheekbones and the precise shape of his brows. But he is also listening, even if the direction of his attention is not solely focused on what Cardan has to say.]
[ His husband's smile, finally, takes some of the tension from him, makes him feel just a little less crushed under the heaviness of their shared grief. And it feels nice to have his hair petted, and he's tired, now that his heart is approaching a normal rhythm again.
He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. ]
When Nicasia left me, [ he starts, ] I lost my fear entirely. For some few glorious days, I felt untouchable. Neither Balekin's wrath nor my father's disdain could reach me.
[ He looks at Liem again. Cardan suspects his husband won't like this story, but it's important. He has a point to make. ]
Of course, that was before Balekin reminded me that there were yet things I could lose.
[ Case in point: there is his husband, mussed and exceedingly charming in his dishevelment. Cardan is seized by the sudden desire to slide his hands under the layers of the suit, to strip it from him, just so he can press close and feel bare skin against skin.
But he has to finish his story, so he only splays his fingers over the small of his husband's back and shifts infinitesimally nearer, tangling them further together. His stare is intent. ]
...I liked being unafraid.
But I didn't like it more than the precious things I have, Liem.
[Cardan’s story reminds Liem keenly of the weeks after Laurent had died and his relationship with Carissa ended, when he had been too numb with bitterness to feel much of anything else, including fear. It had not been a happy time for him; certainly not one he considered an improvement over what he has now.
And he had not been any safer, even if he was less afraid. If anything, he paid poorer attention to the threats around him, given his newfound disdain for the inner lives of other people. He simply cared less, about everything—including things he previously dreaded.
As he meets his husband’s stare, he hopes Cardan never needs to feel that way again. But he wonders if such a thing could be possible.]
Then we are in agreement.
[It is better to have something, and to fear losing it, than to have nothing at all. To him, Cardan’s freedom and happiness are worth protecting, even if the prospect of failure frightens him terribly.
And besides—it gives him the opportunity to tangle himself up in his husband, to pet his hair, to cup his cheek so he can regard him with a steady, tender look that he cannot find it in him to regret just now.]
Besides, [he murmurs, stroking Cardan’s cheekbone with a cool thumb,] you have a talent for banishing my fears.
[Because Cardan is alive after all, and here with him, warming him with his touch and his breath and his nearness, and it turns out that Liem cannot find it in him to be so afraid just now.]
[ He had not expected Liem to acquiesce so readily, and his relief feels strangely premature. His critical, intent stare remains on Liem's face for a while longer. It's just too common for his husband to stuff his discomfort down, to smooth out its edges so that Cardan's life may be easier. Most of the time, he simply accepts it, being prone to some of the same tendencies -- that, and his husband is a remarkably stubborn man.
Tonight, he wants to be sure he is not being lied to.
But Liem's soft touch and tender regard seem too real to doubt, and so he doesn't. They are curled so close now; it's impossible to deny the longing that still sweeps through Cardan. It's only that it is no longer the feral, panicked thing he had felt on the journey here or while he was riding out the poison's effects. He can take his time now. He can turn his head to press his lips to Liem's palm, to brush reverent kisses over his fingertips -- and then his mouth, too, slow and sweet. Their schedule for the night is well and truly ruined; there is no reason not to take his time.
Though he will pull back with a grimace eventually, glancing down at himself -- as much of himself as he sees, wrapped up as he is in his husband. ]
I'm going to have to undress.
[ Now that his temperature has dropped again, he finds himself uncomfortably damp. ]
[In the carriage, on the rushed journey to their rooms, tucked helplessly against Cardan as he shivered through the poison’s effects, Liem had been unable feel anything through the haze of painful, fearful need to hold onto him—to do better than he had, to make Cardan happier, to keep him safer… if only he had the chance. He hadn’t been able to find comfort in his husband, unable as he was to divorce the man in his arms from his own grief and terror.
But the looming spectre of Cardan’s death no longer hangs over him with such fearful certainty, and now that he has emerged from its shadow, Liem is eager to indulge in his husband’s warmth and tenderness and his unwavering desire. He feels starved for his nearness, and he doubts he’ll be sated even if they exchange kisses until the sun climbs into the sky and sinks below the horizon again.
Perhaps because Cardan’s sweetness always feels so unexpected and so undeserved: this rare thing his husband only ever shows to him. He feels like a con artist, having stolen something he hasn’t earned—and he can’t help wanting more, for as long as he can get it. He can’t help melting into his husband when he kisses him, fitting against him as perfectly as he can. His fingers sneak under damp clothing, wandering Cardan’s throat and chest and ribs, sliding possessively around to his back to feel him, solid and real, beneath his hands.
He likes him so awfully, inexcusably much.]
Is that my cue to release you from my clutches?
[Liem murmurs against his jaw, sounding very much like someone who has no immediate intentions of doing anything of the sort.]
I suppose I can… if you permit me to undress you, instead.
[ Cardan frowns; his grip on Liem tightens before he can rein himself in. He is too used to Liem having to leave their marriage bed to go somewhere and do something no doubt very boring and responsible. Sometimes, Cardan can cajole him into staying longer.
Tonight, he doesn't want to have to. Perhaps his husband is just joking -- but he's not in a mood to be good-humoured about it. ]
No.
[ ...Gusairne himself would be impressed with the flatness of that refusal. It's childish, but he's spent all his efforts in being mature on calming both of them down; this time, when he clutches Liem closer, it is sulkily deliberate.
Still, he is growing uncomfortable. With a deeper frown, he amends: ] But you may tend to my clothes, husband.
[ Because he does not feel like dealing with them himself, and the prospect of being taken care of -- once uncomfortable -- has become charming, so long as it is under the care of Liem's gentle, certain hands. He cannot help but be helplessly beguiled by their possessive touch, cannot help but want it back, no matter the circumstance. Regardless of this night's perils, he wants Liem's tenderness and his desire and the endless yearning that seems to have bonded them to each other, even back when they were strangers but in name. ]
So long as you come back to me.
[ Despite this, his hold on Liem hardly loosens. ]
[Somehow, Cardan’s immediate displeasure only encourages the tender feeling in Liem’s chest, flaring warm in the face of his husband’s sullen frown. He can’t quite suppress the smile that wants to twitch up at the corner of his mouth, irrepressibly fond, at the contrary reaction.
How does Cardan always wear that haughty, irritated look so well? Liem cannot see it without wanting to kiss it, no matter how foolish that might be.]
You are so suspicious of me tonight.
[Because he so dearly wishes to, and because Cardan pulls him stubbornly closer anyway, Liem leans in and kisses him again, warm and deliberate. Though he simply means to kiss him a little between his words, his husband’s mouth is incredibly distracting, and it makes longing stab keenly through him. He lingers after all.]
It doesn’t matter.
[His hands wander as he murmurs against Cardan’s mouth, skimming down his husband’s sides to fully untuck his shirt, sneaking between them to tease open the top button of his fly. His voice lilts gently playful, though the words themselves are entirely earnest.]
Malign me as much as you like, my prince. I will still remain here, at your side.
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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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Though perhaps he is the one who cannot be comforted just now, while his lover is so afflicted.]
Oh… Sweetest…
[Helplessly, he presses his lips to Cardan’s overwarm forehead, to his pointed nose, to one long-lashed eyelid and one flushed cheek. Each gasping breath and each hard shiver of the body in his arms feeds the hard knot of fears and desperate wants lodged behind his ribs; it grows increasingly difficult to think around, and he suspects that soon enough it’s going to come loose altogether.
But not yet. Not while Cardan is like this. He needs to at least wait until he is well. Please let him be well, please oh please. Desperation winds up in Liem until he has to stop himself from shaking with the tension of it, until he too feels feverish with compulsion despite his efforts to be still. He has to bite his lip to restrain himself, to stop himself from clutching bruisingly at Cardan with all his despairing loneliness.
He doesn’t know when Cardan became so dear to him. He doesn’t know what he will do if he has to go the rest of his life without seeing him again—without ever touching him, or hearing his laugh or his heated murmur, or seeing his sly looks or charming smiles. He doesn’t know how he could weather an eternity of cold, lonely days and tedious nights in a world without Cardan in it.
His relief when Cardan’s heart finally slows is a terrible, bruised thing, and it cannot stopper the feeling of ruin that has been threatening to drown Liem ever since they left the attorneys’ office. He does not even voice a reply when his husband says his name; when Cardan finally opens his eyes, Liem’s despairing expression is quite evidently that of someone trying his hardest not to cry.]
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His hand finds its way to Liem's face, strokes along his cheek. ]
I'm sorry, [ is what he says, in a move that makes no sense whatsoever. He's not sorry for not dying, and he's not sorry for asking Liem to stay with him, and what else is there to apologize for?
He swallows, his eyes searching Liem's face, uncertain. He doesn't know what else to say in the face of Liem's distress; it's not like any of the other times his husband has been upset.
And-- and surely Liem can tell he's better, just as he could tell when Cardan wasn't. Surely there's nothing to be upset about, anymore. Unless some terrible thing is looming, precipitated somehow on the heels of his poisoning, and he'd just been too sick to notice.
Dread coagulates in his stomach. ]
Liem, what's wrong?
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What do you mean? [Liem whispers against the warm, comfortingly familiar curve of Cardan’s throat, trying to focus only on his scent and his shape and his weight lying against him.] You almost died.
[Just speaking it aloud makes heat claw at his throat, makes him press more insistently against his husband, as though seeking shelter in his embrace.]
You were dying, that whole time.
[For the entire journey home, during the passage through the house, even as Liem wrapped himself around Cardan in their room, before the antidote had begun to take effect. He had to watch his husband die slowly for that entire time, not knowing if he would be able to save him, not knowing how painful of an end it would even be. It was horrible. Somehow, it becomes more horrible with each passing moment, now that he has allowed the truth of it to sink in, and it is all he can do not to break down and sob like a child because of it.
But deep in his chest, tamped down with the animal urges to whimper and wail and cry, lies something else familiar: it is the urge to do incredible, unspeakable violence to the one who did this, who would harm him and his so cruelly. His heart bays for blood, just as much as it longs for comfort.]
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But he can't. He can't, because he doesn't understand this, any of it. He can't, because he needs to know-- and he needs Liem to understand, too.
It takes a bit of effort. His heart, which has been racing so intently just an hour ago, has decided to become sluggish, and his limbs feel weak. His solution is inelegant: he will wrap his arm around his husband, who has pressed so obligingly close, and then throw his weight strategically to one side, so that they roll.
Because what he wants is this: to be on top of Liem, so that he may press him down into the sheets with the entirety of his solid, real, blood-hot weight, with the heartbeat pumping heavily in his chest. He wants to take that pained face into his hands and look at him, searching for an answer in his expression. ]
I didn't die.
[ So much of Faerie's magic is tied to truth. Glamour, curses, geases -- all just someone's truths spoken into being. He has none of those at his disposal now, but he tries, still, to make the words solid, as real as the weight and the heat of his touch. ]
I'm here. I'm perfectly alive.
[ So there is no reason for Liem to look or sound so heartbroken. None at all. ]
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He feels adrift, now, like his world has been put in a dice cup and shaken around so everything is in disarray. The only thing he’s certain of is that he wants Cardan to keep touching him.
Even if he doesn’t quite understand the look on his husband’s face. Liem would have liked to just lie with him for a while, to just reacquaint himself with the feel of his husband wrapped around him without mortal peril looming over them. Surely Cardan couldn’t have objected.
Perhaps the words his husband offers are meant to be reassuring. The only other thing Liem can think of is that it must be frustrating to Cardan to have to coddle Liem for being upset like this, when he wasn’t even the one who was poisoned. That, more than anything else, makes him try harder to stuff the messy, bothersome feelings wailing away inside his chest back into his mental closet so neither he nor Cardan have to look at them. He didn’t mean to make his husband look at him so, and he doesn’t want to keep causing a scene right after Cardan just spent a considerable stretch being quite ill.]
… Yes. All right.
[He will just… stop being upset about this, as he obviously should. As Cardan would obviously like him to. The despair has receded some now, anyway.
But despite his best efforts, he looks more resigned than reassured.]
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Bitterness sinks into his stomach like a stone.
Were he a wiser man, he would back off. It isn't strange for Liem not to trust him. His track record speaks for itself; when has he ever been gentle with anyone's feelings, when given the choice?
And what good would come of pushing? Of fighting his husband at a time like this? He has learned to read Liem better with each month he's here; surely, eventually, he won't need his husband to explain himself at all.
But he can't. He can't leave it. He feels angry, all of a sudden, flush with helpless rage and fear and regret. It's selfish, but he knows no other way to be but selfish -- greedy, cruel, heedless of anyone but himself. He opens his mouth-- and snaps it shut again, frustrated. What is there to say to a man who only retreats inward when provoked? ]
Liem.
[ His voice is tight with it. He feels too raw to hide the desperation that threads through. ]
Do not do this thing to me.
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His attempt at unaffected calm falters, his face falling when his husband speaks again. From the tightness in his voice, the hint of desperation, Liem suspects Cardan needs him to actually pull himself together, to be present with him, not just shut down and pretend to be fine. But he doesn’t know how to manage this right now.]
I’m sorry.
[He closes his eyes with a murmur, frowning through a long, pensive breath. He is still frowning when he looks up again, though at least he no longer seems actively on the verge of tears.]
I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with this.
[He didn’t rise this afternoon emotionally prepared for the attempted murder of his own husband, and he is beginning to realize that this is not one of those things that gets easier with repetition. In fact, this time has felt worse in every possible way, and he cannot make himself shrug it away and pretend it hadn’t made him feel agonizingly helpless the entire time. It was a very special kind of torture, and yet he has no one to whom he can unburden himself—except the man who just nearly died, who obviously does not need Liem’s suffering to add to his own.]
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He leans in, kisses the corner of Liem's unhappy mouth. He had intended for his weight to be calming, but at this point, it feels more like trapping a small, unhappy animal via brute force.
Because he's selfish, he doesn't relent. ]
I know.
[ At least, he's realized, ever since opening his eyes to find that twisted, painful expression on his husband's face. His thumb strokes along one cheek. ]
I've been afraid since I could remember. I didn't-- I thought it was normal, to be used to it.
[ But Liem hadn't been the unfavoured son of a troublesome courtesan; he was Iago's heir, endowed with power over everyone but his father. Of course he wouldn't know. How stupid, to assume that he might.
He draws in a breath, searching Liem's face again. ]
Let me help you. Please.
[ He doesn't even know if he can. But he knows that he cannot bear the loneliness of being shut out, even if that is selfish too. ]
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The temptation of letting Cardan truly care for him, for even some small piece of his heart, makes him ache with terrible, lonely desire. He wants to believe that Cardan really does wish to.
It is just that he is afraid to let him, and he is so very out of practice.
But Liem has plenty of practice with longing, particularly longing for his husband. His grip has gone slack with distraction, and now he wraps his arms a little tighter again around Cardan, pressing him close, as he had been before they rolled over. Only this time, he submits to his husband’s desire to retain his view of his face.
Liem’s regard of him is both serious and a little plaintive.]
I don’t want you to have to be afraid anymore.
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He'd guessed wrong so many times this night that it shouldn't surprise him when Liem tells him the next unexpected thing -- but it startles a soft laugh out of him anyway. How like his husband, actually, to turn the tables on him so.
It's troublesome, because he is a hypocrite: he wants to see Liem without being seen at all. ]
I'm not sure if that's possible.
[ Which sounds terribly bleak, when put that way. He shakes his head, then continues. ]
It's not just Dain. My position at my father's court has never been secure. When I agreed to Elowyn's plan, it was because I didn't think it could be any worse, here.
[ ...well, he supposes there is nothing for it: if he is going to get Liem to be honest, then he will have to sacrifice some of his secrets, pathetic as they may make him sound. ]
And I was right. I don't relish being poisoned, but Liem-- I have never had someone protect me like this. I never imagined anyone would.
[ He can't help but sound a little awed about it, even now. That Liem would go to such lengths... That he would look like that, like he might cry-- had anyone ever cried for Cardan, in his entire villainous life? He very much doubts it. ]
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Especially when he is right to refer to Iago’s court as such—as somewhere just as dangerous as his original home. The thing keeping him mostly safe from the elder vampire at present, Liem imagines, is simply that Iago has no leverage over him. If he ever discerned something Cardan was obliged to care about, however, his place in the house would become precarious.
That, or if Iago ever learned the depth of his son’s affection for his husband.]
I said I would.
[He’d promised when they were married, and refused to recant after the first time an assassin came for Cardan. Certainly his husband had tried to convince him—for his own good, more like than not. Not that Liem cares much for his own good.]
I meant it then, and I mean it now. I want to protect you. I intend to.
[Somehow still lonely for contact, even now, Liem tips his head up to rest his brow against Cardan’s.]
I just didn’t know it would be like this.
[He knew it might be hard. He just hadn’t realized he would become so terrified of failure.]
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The thought of him actually becoming vulnerable to Dain is terrifying -- far worse than anything Cardan can manage to feel about his own impending doom. He frowns, forcefully pivoting away from imagining this, because now is hardly the time. After all, his husband is here, solid and real, his familiar touch as viscerally comforting as it has ever been. He thinks of his terrible loneliness, back during the carriage ride, and marvels at the foolishness of pride. Why hadn't he just asked Liem to hold him then?
Regardless, he is supposed to be helping.
His fingers stroke through Liem's hair, smoothing out the silver at his temple. They are so close he can feel Liem's cool breath when he speaks -- so close that he cannot help but want to close the remaining distance. So he does, his lips brushing, just barely, against his lover's mouth. ]
Like what, husband?
[ He's made so many wrong guesses already. For once, he thinks he'd rather ask instead. ]
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It’s ironic that somehow, although Cardan’s heart is the one to have been racing so heedlessly, Liem’s has ended up feeling so bruised.]
I knew I would be afraid, [he murmurs,] but I didn’t know how much.
[Even when the assassin had come for them at that party, he can’t remember feeling nearly so terrified. At first, the fight had just swept him up, muffling everything else—and even after, though his mind had been awhirl with concerns, his fear had not been so great.
But that had been before he let Cardan become so dear to him. It had been before his taste became the only one on Liem’s tongue and his arms came to feel like the only home he would ever need: which is a terrible way to feel for a man who, on some level, must surely hold Liem in contempt. And still, Liem cannot suppress his own desperate attachment to his husband, set down over months and now rooted deep, so intrinsic he doesn’t know how he could possibly burn it out.
But he cannot tell Cardan that, and his husband deserves to understand. So if he cannot tell him the truth, perhaps a truth will suffice.]
You know, I was there… the night my mother was killed.
[He pulls back to say this; swallows, makes himself look Cardan in the eye.]
I was still small. We were taking a carriage somewhere, and when it was attacked she hid me inside the seat. Then she went out, and… I spent what felt like a long time waiting.
[For someone to come: maybe for his mother to return, maybe for some soldier to drag him out. As time had gone on, and it had become quieter, he had worried less for himself—but for his mother, he only worried more. Looking back, he doubts it was much longer than an hour or two, but for him the waiting had gone on forever.]
I hate the waiting most. But when my father found me, and he told me she was dead… [His expression loses some of its steady focus, becomes more distant, and more heartbroken.] I wanted to go back. It had been better, just being afraid.
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He strokes Liem's hair as he listens, brow furrowed, and thinks himself a fool for the fiftieth time this night. He had forgotten about Liem's mother entirely. Vampires fear neither old age nor illness; he could have surmised that she must have died violently. He must have surmised it, at one point, and yet he hadn't thought -- had never realized -- that his husband had already suffered this kind of loss.
How terrible it must have been, to lose someone who loved him enough to protect him. He has no recourse for it. How could he? How could anyone?
He envisions the serious child from the family portrait waiting for the woman pictured beside him, and cannot imagine what it must have been like. And what would she have thought of Cardan, who could not leave Liem at all, even when he knew full well that it was cowardice? That it would only endanger him or hurt him? And now it is too late; now leaving would hurt too much. He cannot even pretend that he might do such a thing.
The forlorn look on Liem's face aches like a bruise. ]
She kept you safe.
...as you have me.
[ And he can't help but wonder if she'd been terrified too, leaving her son as she had. ]
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But perhaps he would not be here to have such thoughts if that were the case, and Cardan would be without a husband, so maybe Cardan is right after all. Even if being saved in such a way had only made him unhappy.]
I don’t want to be that frightened, helpless boy again.
[Not when he’s already waded through so much blood to get here. If he can’t even protect his own husband, what good can he possibly be to anyone?
And how could he live with himself if he failed to keep Cardan of all people safe?]
I’m sorry I was out of sorts, Cardan. [He’s earnest, apologetic as he says this. He can’t help but feel like their ride back home was so tense and unhappy mostly because of him.] I just don’t want to lose you, too.
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Good thing you were so spectacularly unhelpless that I'm still alive.
[ That's the important part, he thinks, and one that Liem has spent far too little focus on. He glances down at his husband's handsome features, more painfully attractive for all that sincerity. Liem wields it as if it were a weapon. ]
And I shan't accept your apology, Liem Talbott, for you owe no such thing. I should have known better.
Next time, I will disregard your wishes and demand to be coddled regardless.
[ Neither his tone nor his face indicate that he's joking.
Still, it irks him that he cannot promise Liem the things that he wants: that he will stay by his side for as long as Liem needs him -- forever, if they're both not sick of each other by then. But it is not truth, and so he cannot speak it, no matter how much he wishes to.
And he will not waste his time with cheap qualifiers.
So instead he will sigh, and shift his weight for the second time this early morning. This time, it is so he can stop squashing Liem and move to his side instead -- though Cardan still throws an arm over his chest, still tangles his leg in between Liem's, still keeps his face close enough that he needs only murmur to be heard. After all the turmoil of earlier, he is unwilling to separate even for a minute.
Which is why he does not bring up that they're both still wearing shoes. ]
...there is an antidote to fear, you know.
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You are incredibly contrary, [he observes, hopelessly fond.
He has had enough tonight of trying to be sensible. It is why, when his husband rolls off to lie against him again, Liem does not attempt to use this opportunity to unlace his boots or shrug free of his coat. He simply continues to wrap himself around Cardan, running his fingers through his hair as he watches him from only a breath away.]
Oh? And what is that?
[Liem regards his husband with rapt attention that is mostly occupied with cataloguing the singular colour of his eyes, the length of his lashes, the angle of his cheekbones and the precise shape of his brows. But he is also listening, even if the direction of his attention is not solely focused on what Cardan has to say.]
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He leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. ]
When Nicasia left me, [ he starts, ] I lost my fear entirely. For some few glorious days, I felt untouchable. Neither Balekin's wrath nor my father's disdain could reach me.
[ He looks at Liem again. Cardan suspects his husband won't like this story, but it's important. He has a point to make. ]
Of course, that was before Balekin reminded me that there were yet things I could lose.
[ Case in point: there is his husband, mussed and exceedingly charming in his dishevelment. Cardan is seized by the sudden desire to slide his hands under the layers of the suit, to strip it from him, just so he can press close and feel bare skin against skin.
But he has to finish his story, so he only splays his fingers over the small of his husband's back and shifts infinitesimally nearer, tangling them further together. His stare is intent. ]
...I liked being unafraid.
But I didn't like it more than the precious things I have, Liem.
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And he had not been any safer, even if he was less afraid. If anything, he paid poorer attention to the threats around him, given his newfound disdain for the inner lives of other people. He simply cared less, about everything—including things he previously dreaded.
As he meets his husband’s stare, he hopes Cardan never needs to feel that way again. But he wonders if such a thing could be possible.]
Then we are in agreement.
[It is better to have something, and to fear losing it, than to have nothing at all. To him, Cardan’s freedom and happiness are worth protecting, even if the prospect of failure frightens him terribly.
And besides—it gives him the opportunity to tangle himself up in his husband, to pet his hair, to cup his cheek so he can regard him with a steady, tender look that he cannot find it in him to regret just now.]
Besides, [he murmurs, stroking Cardan’s cheekbone with a cool thumb,] you have a talent for banishing my fears.
[Because Cardan is alive after all, and here with him, warming him with his touch and his breath and his nearness, and it turns out that Liem cannot find it in him to be so afraid just now.]
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Tonight, he wants to be sure he is not being lied to.
But Liem's soft touch and tender regard seem too real to doubt, and so he doesn't. They are curled so close now; it's impossible to deny the longing that still sweeps through Cardan. It's only that it is no longer the feral, panicked thing he had felt on the journey here or while he was riding out the poison's effects. He can take his time now. He can turn his head to press his lips to Liem's palm, to brush reverent kisses over his fingertips -- and then his mouth, too, slow and sweet. Their schedule for the night is well and truly ruined; there is no reason not to take his time.
Though he will pull back with a grimace eventually, glancing down at himself -- as much of himself as he sees, wrapped up as he is in his husband. ]
I'm going to have to undress.
[ Now that his temperature has dropped again, he finds himself uncomfortably damp. ]
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But the looming spectre of Cardan’s death no longer hangs over him with such fearful certainty, and now that he has emerged from its shadow, Liem is eager to indulge in his husband’s warmth and tenderness and his unwavering desire. He feels starved for his nearness, and he doubts he’ll be sated even if they exchange kisses until the sun climbs into the sky and sinks below the horizon again.
Perhaps because Cardan’s sweetness always feels so unexpected and so undeserved: this rare thing his husband only ever shows to him. He feels like a con artist, having stolen something he hasn’t earned—and he can’t help wanting more, for as long as he can get it. He can’t help melting into his husband when he kisses him, fitting against him as perfectly as he can. His fingers sneak under damp clothing, wandering Cardan’s throat and chest and ribs, sliding possessively around to his back to feel him, solid and real, beneath his hands.
He likes him so awfully, inexcusably much.]
Is that my cue to release you from my clutches?
[Liem murmurs against his jaw, sounding very much like someone who has no immediate intentions of doing anything of the sort.]
I suppose I can… if you permit me to undress you, instead.
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Tonight, he doesn't want to have to. Perhaps his husband is just joking -- but he's not in a mood to be good-humoured about it. ]
No.
[ ...Gusairne himself would be impressed with the flatness of that refusal. It's childish, but he's spent all his efforts in being mature on calming both of them down; this time, when he clutches Liem closer, it is sulkily deliberate.
Still, he is growing uncomfortable. With a deeper frown, he amends: ] But you may tend to my clothes, husband.
[ Because he does not feel like dealing with them himself, and the prospect of being taken care of -- once uncomfortable -- has become charming, so long as it is under the care of Liem's gentle, certain hands. He cannot help but be helplessly beguiled by their possessive touch, cannot help but want it back, no matter the circumstance. Regardless of this night's perils, he wants Liem's tenderness and his desire and the endless yearning that seems to have bonded them to each other, even back when they were strangers but in name. ]
So long as you come back to me.
[ Despite this, his hold on Liem hardly loosens. ]
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How does Cardan always wear that haughty, irritated look so well? Liem cannot see it without wanting to kiss it, no matter how foolish that might be.]
You are so suspicious of me tonight.
[Because he so dearly wishes to, and because Cardan pulls him stubbornly closer anyway, Liem leans in and kisses him again, warm and deliberate. Though he simply means to kiss him a little between his words, his husband’s mouth is incredibly distracting, and it makes longing stab keenly through him. He lingers after all.]
It doesn’t matter.
[His hands wander as he murmurs against Cardan’s mouth, skimming down his husband’s sides to fully untuck his shirt, sneaking between them to tease open the top button of his fly. His voice lilts gently playful, though the words themselves are entirely earnest.]
Malign me as much as you like, my prince. I will still remain here, at your side.
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