[The experience of listening to Cardan move around him, scenting him in the room’s still air and feeling his warm hands on his shoulders, recalls Liem to the time they’d gone skating into the forest, when Cardan had blindfolded him for sport. Though his eyes are not actually covered now, his keen, blind awareness of his lover in the space near him is familiar—pleasantly so. It makes him greedy to feel those hands wander, feel those breaths tickle his throat, though there are other things meant to be occupying his attention just now.
He opens his eyes when directed, curious now what the Undersea Queen could have sent him, in addition to the contract Cardan returned with. While it had briefly occurred to him that she might send a gift to celebrate their new agreement, he had promptly forgotten the thought after Cardan’s luggage arrived and only his husband’s own belongings seemed to emerge.
He is greeted by a pale, lean-featured man standing next to Cardan’s familiar reflection, and is startled suddenly rigid for a moment as he registers the unexpected sight before him. Only when he has already jumped a little beneath his husband’s hands—and the man before him has as well—does his conscious mind make sense of the image, forcing its way through his tense, wary stillness like a blush of ink soaking through paper.
The man in the reflection, standing next to his husband, is him. For the first time in his quarter-century of life, he is looking at himself in the mirror.
For a long moment, bewilderment keeps him speechless. He watches in real time as his frozen-blank expression creases into a frown of hesitant scrutiny, his pale eyes darting around to glance at the golden frame, his brows nudging together to create a little double wrinkle right between them. Though Liem glances over the apparition in the glass, this vaguely familiar man wearing his clothing, it does give every appearance of being his reflection: a reflection he’s supposed to not possess.
He mutters absently, completely baffled,] My hair’s parted on the wrong side…
[ He laughs, surprised and a little delighted, at this unexpected complaint. He hadn't been entirely certain what to expect, and in the absence of knowing, his thoughts had canted towards the familiar -- which is to say, the carnal. Of course, that was stupid: obviously, Liem would be far more concerned with looking at himself than with looking at Cardan's hands down his trousers, at least right now.
Cardan just hadn't expected him to be so endearing about it.
His own reflection wears a smile he can only describe as embarrassingly fond; he has to hide it against Liem's hair, pressing a kiss to the aforementioned part. ]
I confess I had my doubts about his promises, but the horrid little gnome has earned his renown.
[ After all, there he is: Liem, looking like he always does, pale and sharp-eyed and enchantingly serious. Cardan always wishes to kiss the furrow between his brows; it is strange, for once, that he cannot -- by dint of not facing it.
He leans his cheek against his husband's temple to grin at him instead, obviously pleased with himself. His hands have slid down Liem's body to drape loosely over his waist. It is unexpectedly thrilling, too, to see themselves together -- the way Liem folds so neatly into his arms, slim and sharply elegant in his impeccable suit.
They make a dashing pair, but he already knew that. ]
Do you believe me now? No portrait of yours has ever captured so charming a frown.
[Liem never expected to be confronted with his own reflection, and now that he is, he can’t settle on a way to feel about it. It is bizarre having some strange, reversed image of himself staring at him, copying his every movement. His initial inclination is still that the figure doesn’t belong there, that it is an imposter image masquerading as him. He hadn’t realized that he might still feel the same disconnect upon seeing his reflection that he has routinely felt upon viewing paintings of himself.
His only solace is Cardan’s steady presence at his back, radiating satisfaction as he drapes himself around him. The obvious pleasure his husband takes in viewing his reflection means it must look as it should; it must look truly like him, just as Cardan’s own reflection does. Liem cannot manage to be truly distressed when his husband is resting so contentedly against him.
But his hands are still twitchy, and he is still beset by that uncertain frown as he leans back into his husband’s casual embrace.]
Certainly none of my portraits have captured me looking thus, [he agrees neutrally, after a moment’s stare. Liem would much rather look at Cardan grinning from just beside his face, and does, feeling his anxiety recede some as he observes his unsubtle good humour. So bolstered, he reaches for Cardan’s hands, that he might use them to wind his arms more firmly about himself.]
Was this wholly Queen Orlagh’s idea, or did you have something to do with it?
Mm. [ He'll let Liem's cool hands guide his own, winding them around his lover to pull him against Cardan's body. He likes this, too, likes that he can tip his head and murmur his answer against the shell of Liem's ear. ]
She deserves most of the credit, I'm afraid.
But… [ He pauses, grins. His mouth caresses the edge of Liem’s ear, indulgent. ] There is a piece of me in that mirror.
The smith required something true to weave the magic upon. [ A memory, Grimsen had told him, doing a poor job of hiding the greedy twinkle in his eye.
Cardan had not wanted to part with a memory. ]
I gave him one of my dreams about you. [ He glances back at mirror Liem, scanning his features, the lines of his body, his hands, his mouth. If one looks very closely, focuses overmuch, he is a little soft-edged — a little ethereal in a way real mirror images aren’t. ]
[Despite his misgivings, Liem finds himself lulled by the warm reassurance of Cardan’s body pressed against him and the gentle caress of Cardan’s breath against his ear. The image in the mirror seems more likeable when he views it in aggregate, taking in the way his lover is twined about him, his head dipped to murmur to him between grins that still seem distinctly pleased with the gift Liem has been delivered.
He can feel each movement of his lover’s mouth, feel his familiar embrace, hear the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the heart thumping quietly against his back. Focusing on these things helps diminish the odd feeling that he is watching his husband embrace someone else.
He regards the whole of the mirror properly now, astonishment catching back up with him as his unease recedes. Even though he had known that Faerie was a land of magic, that supposedly dreams could be bought and sold there, he had never imagined that something like this could emerge from that place.]
It is lovely.
[The carvings of the frame are very reminiscent of his family’s crest, which he supposes isn’t surprising. What is surprising is that Cardan wished enough to see Orlagh’s gift completed that he surrendered something of his own to make it so. But then, Cardan regularly gives parts of himself to Liem, with every appearance of deriving possessive pleasure from the act, so perhaps it was foolish of Liem not to expect this.
Tipping his head back against his husband’s shoulder, he turns his face away from their reflections for the moment so he can press a kiss against Cardan’s jaw.]
You must have chosen a good one.
[For all his unease at suddenly having a reflection, he cannot deny that the man in the glass looks entirely convincing, and less grave than Liem had always supposed he might.]
I imagine so, [ Cardan replies, a little distracted -- as he always is -- by Liem's mouth in proximity to his face. ] I no longer recall it.
[ He frowns anyway, indulging in the inevitably futile impulse to try and remember something he'd given away. All that exists in the dream's place is a grey absence, muted and soft. ]
I imagine it was quite lurid. Most of my dreams about you were.
[ Over and over, he had gone to bed in the Undersea and woken up with his heart racing and his body restless with longing for someone who wasn't there. His arms tighten around Liem, instinctively, when he recalls it -- the empty bed, his tangled sheets, the mix of lust and anger at being separated.
He sighs, a little bereft even now, even as he breathes in his husband. Liem hadn't looked... pleased about the mirror, and still doesn't -- but Cardan's husband is a cautious man. It will, he assumes, take a while for Liem to get used to seeing his own face.
...though perhaps Cardan can help him acclimatize. His gaze finds his own, and he raises an eyebrow, as if to ask his reflection, Now?
But of course the answer has always been yes.
His hand wanders up -- fingertips dragging over Liem's chest, his collar, tracing lightly over the long, pale column of his throat. It's different, watching himself do it. It feels like cheating, to see so much of it at once. ]
...we look good together, [ he will say, and there is something archly considering lurking in his voice. ]
[Liem smiles a little at the—frankly unsurprising—admission about the likely character of the dream that was woven into this mirror. While he does blush a little to imagine a stranger getting their hands on a dream so intimate, he cannot be shocked that this would be the primary kind of offering available on his husband’s part.
It is rare for Liem to recall dreams that aren’t taut with anxiety, so he can only be glad no such creation would be necessary for the man reflected alongside him.
The transit of warm fingertips from his clothed chest to his throat catches him off-guard, occupied as he’d been with nuzzling the tender space beneath Cardan’s pointed ear. He feels himself go squirmily tense for a moment, and then relax once more against his husband’s body as the shivery pleasure of that wandering touch passes through him.
He does not look back at the mirror.]
That was not a matter for debate, surely.
[Liem is very tempted now to turn around. He has seen the queen’s gift, and now he would like to kiss his husband and lure him the rest of the way to their bed. This seems to him like the most reasonable thing in the world, and yet, he suspects his beloved spouse has some other scheme in mind. Liem murmurs against his neck,] But I cannot kiss you while staring at my own reflection.
[ Cardan raises his eyebrows, valiantly suppressing his soft shiver. ]
You are kissing me right now.
[ Yes, of course that's not what Liem means, but nevertheless. Of course, his husband is right to suspect him of being up to something -- because he never isn't, and because he certainly didn't give Grimsen his sex dream just so they could use the mirror chastely.
He hooks lazy fingers into the loop of Liem's tie, watching himself dispense with the knot. Liem seems hesitant to embrace the mirror -- Cardan supposes that seeing himself after a lifetime of the opposite might be a little odd. Fortunately, Cardan is not possessed of such limitations.
He meets his own eyes in the mirror and smiles, ignoring the way his tail is tapping impatiently against his own thigh. Perhaps Liem is right that their looking good together was not ever in question, but he's not certain his lover realizes just how delectable he looks -- caught in Cardan's arms, the elegant line of his jaw outlined in profile, his mouth on Cardan's neck. Selfishly, Cardan wants to keep watching him just as much as he wants Liem to see himself. ]
[Cardan’s lazy retort earns only a mild hum of agreement from Liem, languid as he feels the tie loosen around his throat.]
Instead of bothering with… my reflection, yes.
[His reflection. Still a strange thing to say; still a strange thing to have. But despite the inarguable novelty of being able to see himself in the mirror, he finds himself oddly nervous to glance into it while so enthralled by his lover. Obviously Cardan sees him lose his composure every time they couple; Liem is the only one of them for whom the sight would be at all unfamiliar. And still, it seems vulnerable for him to see it himself, for Cardan to watch him seeing it—as if the reflection might multiply his nakedness as well as his image.
As if to banish this thought, he slides a hand up, fingers cupping the back of Cardan’s neck, and looks up at him, twisting so he can pull him closer, down to where he can kiss his mouth instead of just his neck and jaw. If he is inconveniencing Cardan’s voyeuristic designs, making the task of sneaking glances at that mirror more challenging, he shows no sign of remorse about it at all.]
[ It's relentless, the way Liem's mouth on his always makes his breath catch, makes excitement rise in his blood. It doesn't matter if it's the first time or the millionth. He is immediately distracted from his purpose; his fingers slide into Liem's hair, pull him closer still, suddenly ravenous for him. He will never tire of having Liem in his arms, of touching him, of holding him like a treasure he wasn't supposed to find.
How dangerous, that his husband clearly knows this now. How dangerous, that he's willing to use it to his advantage. And Cardan, who has ever been drawn to danger, to sharp things against his tender skin, is more than willing to step into the trap.
Besides, the mirror will be there when he's done kissing Liem to his satisfaction. It's only been a few nights since his return, and his husband has insisted on working through an alarming number of them. Cardan has not nearly sated his month-long need for him, still.
The fact that he has never once successfully sated his need for Liem in the months prior is immaterial, surely. ]
[Satisfaction blooms alongside indulgent pleasure as his lover pulls him closer, forgetting the mirror for the moment to devote himself only to Liem. Whether they are alone or in public, whether they have been apart for weeks or only for minutes, Liem is always, always starved for Cardan’s attention. He wishes always to be on his mind, and better yet, in his arms. He can only be triumphant at his success in diverting Cardan to such delightful effect.
Even though this, too, makes just a hint of anxiety curl in his belly. But that is only the ever-present fear that accompanies all precious things in his life; the more Cardan gives in to Liem’s tender demands, the tighter his embrace is and the more hungry his kisses, the more stubbornly that little fear reminds him of what he has to lose.
So he is all the more indulgent as he claims his kisses, twists around fully to stretch up along the length of Cardan’s body. He may as well enjoy the heat and shape of Cardan against him; he may as well enjoy how greedy for him his husband has become—impossibly even more than before, Liem thinks—since his return.
He will nibble at the tender curve of Cardan’s lip, eager to taste him. Eager to tempt him, too. Surely this is a finer prize than any reflection, no matter how new or how titillating.]
[ As usual, Cardan expects to have his cake and eat it. But then -- how could he possibly give this up, when Liem feels so perfect pressed against him, when the teeth on his lip make him draw in a sharp breath and clutch at his lover a little harder? No, surely he needn't forsake his husband's affection to enjoy the Undersea's gift. Besides, he so loves it when Liem is forward, when desire makes him pursue Cardan with uncharacteristic aggression.
...even if it is just his desire to avoid the mirror.
Cardan has no intention of letting his husband escape from self-awareness, but they needn't worry about that just now. Besides, if Cardan keeps kissing him, Liem will have no opportunity to protest Cardan undressing him right then and there.
One advantage to waking up -- and going to sleep, and sometimes fucking -- in the cavernous darkness of their unlit bedroom is that he has gotten exceptionally good at not needing to see clothing: his own, Liem's. His hands should make quick work of Liem's jacket, his waistcoat, and the buttons of his shirt. The layers are always maddening; he cannot recall ever being so eager to splay his hands over a lover's bare chest before. He cannot be fully patient for it, either: rarely does he get more than three quarters down the row of buttons before sliding greedy hands under the shirt. Every time, it feels like relief; every time, it makes heat coil tight and possessive in his belly. His husband, his lover, held just so in the covetous grasp of Cardan's hands. ]
[At first, it doesn’t occur to Liem to be concerned about the fingers busily undoing the buttons marching down his front, down his waistcoat and then his shirt. How could he worry over such a thing, when the sensation of Cardan’s hands undressing him, peeling off his clothes or sneaking beneath them, always sparks such helpless, eager relief in his chest? When it is always accompanied by an implicit, almost unconscious undercurrent of yes, yes, yes.
Those hands just make him feel so at home. He belongs in Cardan’s clutches; he has no words to explain the way that letting his lover strip him bare and lay claim to him makes him feel, but he knows it soothes some feverish, desperate part of him, and he knows he will never tire of it, no matter how many times he touches him like this.
He wants Cardan to be just as ravenous for him as Liem is for his touch. He hungers for the way his teeth make Cardan’s breath catch and his grip on him tighten. And, perhaps foolishly, he cannot make himself think of anything else just now. He is too busy kissing him, between breaths that hitch and stutter as warm hands move over his skin. Too busy threading his fingers through Cardan’s hair and tugging loose the fastenings at his collar.
It is only when he catches glimpses of them from the corner of his eye that he thinks to worry at all—but he is easily distracted from this thought, stubbornly determined as he is to avoid contemplating the mirror at all.]
[ It's instinct, now, to tilt his face up when Liem's hands gather at his collar -- because he forever wants Liem's bite. Because it never ceases to thrill him to expose his vulnerable throat to his husband, who is kind and patient and fastidious and terrifically dangerous. From under his lashes, he cuts a quick glance to the mirror, which dutifully reflects the two of them, entwined in each other. With his chin tipped upward as it is, he can see the pulse under his jaw flutter in unsubtle invitation. New and fading love bites peek out from beneath his collar, but the twin puncture wounds from the night of his arrival have long disappeared.
He wants them back.
It's an obvious trap, but that has never deterred Liem before. And anyway, would he truly refuse Cardan when his hands are pushing the layers of shirt and jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders? When they slide down his flanks, follow the steep angle of his hipbone to dip greedy fingers inside his trousers? More even than the thrill of Liem's teeth, Cardan has ever craved the thrill of his pleasure.
He looks at Liem, his mouth curving, delighted and insouciant. ]
[Eagerness squirms hot against Liem’s ribs as Cardan bares the length of his throat in easy, indulgent invitation. He feels at once both possessive and besotted, and can no more resist the urge to brush his mouth again over the marks there than he can deny the lazy tide of pleasure spreading beneath his skin in the wake of Cardan’s hands. Tugging silk and polished little buttons undone, he paints his affection deliberately down his lover’s neck.]
Reckless.
[His murmur is wistful as he lets his hands fall, allowing the layers of his clothing to slide from him to pool on the floor. Even when Cardan’s hands slide down his flanks, into his trousers, shivery sensation making Liem gasp against his neck, he resists the urge to give his husband what he has demanded.]
The last marks have scarcely gone.
[As ever, Cardan is the one to wilfully ignore the fact that his own blood is a finite resource. Liem cannot bite him whenever he wishes—much as the thought of it sends another greedy thrill straight down to his cock. He hungers for it, more ravenously even than he does for Cardan’s blood: the exhilaration of claiming Cardan so indulgently for himself; the greed and impatience it inspires in his husband. He wants it incessantly, unquenchably.
It makes him liable to forget to take care—and he cannot afford to forget. Not with Cardan, whom he can never stop wanting at all.]
[ He has to admit to engaging in wishful thinking. Since Cardan's little incident with the fainting, Liem has never allowed himself to ignore his self-imposed limits on sampling Cardan's lifeblood. Expecting him to be less conscientious about it this time has never once worked.
But that doesn't mean Cardan will stop trying, and tonight he is spurned on by a particularly important purpose. He wants Liem to see himself, blood-drunk and helplessly eager -- wants him to see that enchanting, vulnerable need on his own face. Maybe then his husband would understand just what watching him does to Cardan.
Besides, Liem hasn't said no. ]
I've gone a month without, [ he counters, wrapping warm fingers around Liem to stroke, eager for the silken weight of his cock in his grip. He's breathless, still, from the transit of Liem's mouth over the fading bruises on his throat, from the gasp his husband buried against his skin.
His free hand wanders up, greedy fingertips tracing the line of Liem's jaw, sliding into his hair to cradle the back of his head. Cardan wants him to stay right there, so he may wrest with his desire from an intimate distance. ]
[That is, Liem is fairly certain, not how donating blood really works. Obviously going a month without bloodletting doesn’t result in some surplus one could then burn through, no more than Cardan had any such excess when they were first married and he had yet to bite him at all.
And yet. And yet, this logic does nothing to lessen his desire, or to distract him from the seductive slide of Cardan’s warm fingers over his skin.]
How am… am I the one owing in this situation?
[He breathes the query against his husband’s neck, gripping at his shirt as he resists the urge to squirm into the pleasure of his touch. He is the one pressing compulsive, hungry kisses against Cardan’s throat. He is the one with the promise of Cardan’s blood still tempting him treacherously after weeks of only flat-tasting animal’s blood to sate him. If either of them is in arrears, surely it should be his husband, who exacted his promise to sup on no-one else and then left him to his own devices for the entirety of his Undersea trip.
It is entirely like Cardan to spin things this way. Liem nips at the tender skin beneath his jaw, a little punitive in his teased and growing impatience.]
Hah. [ It's more breath than laugh. His eyes slide closed, his thoughts stuttering for a moment under the onslaught of Liem's tender punishment -- and his not so tender nip, which makes Cardan draw in a sharp breath and suppress his own wanting shiver. ]
You have left me with a debt-- [ Their agreement was mutual, after all. ] --which you are... mm, refusing to let me repay.
[ He should be more sore about that, really, but it's difficult when his husband's mouth is so terribly, enchantingly distracting. It's cruel of Liem, he thinks, to deny him his bite when he's already doing so much to remind Cardan of its pleasure. ]
You call me reckless and terrible, [ which he greatly enjoys, don't get him wrong, ] yet have I not taken care, husband? Have I not been dutiful in curating my good health?
[ Of course, he doesn't actually want to argue about this, because he doesn't want to fight with Liem right now. It's why the fingers on Liem's cock remain unrelenting in their indulgent stroking; it's why he's still holding his husband close, unwilling to let him pull away from the temptation of Cardan's hammering pulse. ]
[Liem really should know better by now than to try to debate anything with his husband when Cardan is touching his dick. He cannot keep his thoughts straight in the face of that insistent caress, nor muster any reply to the accusations Cardan levels his way. There are surely reasons why Liem should insist on keeping to his restraint, but they escape him now, and all he is left with is the familiar desire to give his husband what he wants.]
You can talk me into anything, [he complains, breathless as he leans against his lover’s chest. Cool fingers working their way down his buttons slide greedily inside the half-undone shirt, splaying over heated skin.
He would be worried that his weakness for indulging Cardan is so unavoidably obvious, but this, too, is something he wants to give his husband. Even if being indulged at every turn only makes him grow bored, Liem still wants to give him the satisfaction first.
He bites. The rush of it trembles through him, makes him arch against his lover and squirm beneath his grip. Liem swallows back a moan as the sweet pleasure of Cardan’s blood tangles up in the warm solidity of him pressed close, the beguiling comfort of his scent and the demanding caress of his hand.
This time he won’t let himself drink so heedlessly—but still, the bliss of it seduces him, as it always does. Still, he feels himself melt a little in his husband’s embrace, even as the world goes bright and sharp around him—Cardan’s scent even more beguiling, his breaths somehow more musical. He drags his tongue over his lover’s throat, lewdly conciliatory.]
[ Cardan does moan; the familiar sting of Liem's bite arcs through him like lightning, dizzying in its thrill. It throbs all the way down to his cock, which is already straining impatiently against the confines of his trousers. He loves his husband's cool, eager hands; he loves the softness of his mouth in the aftermath of those dangerous fangs. He loves the pleasure that takes Liem over in moments like these, the way his control falters and gives over to need-- It fills Cardan with such terrible, devouring tenderness. He cannot stand it. ]
Only that which you already desire, [ he breathes, distracted fingers sweeping up to pet Liem's hair while he pursues said want. ] I am but the voice of your neglected self-indulgence.
[ And how good that it is a duty he was practically born to perform. To coax this stubborn, determinedly selfless man to selfishness -- what greater calling for a man has known nothing but entitlement all of his life? ]
[Fleetingly, Liem wonders if it is intentional, the way Cardan strokes his hair while arguing that he only talks him into agreeing to things he wants. It’s a broad category: anything that involves Cardan touching him might fit within it. His husband cannot have failed to notice this.
Not that it makes any difference if he has. Either way, Liem feels flushed and sensitive with greed, suddenly impatient for Cardan’s demanding caress and hungry kisses, which is surely just how his husband wanted him. Everything else fades away to irrelevance, leaving him tipping his face up to seek his lover with hungry eyes.]
My self-indulgence is questioning why we are still half-dressed. [With his free hand he tugs at Cardan’s shirt, intent on freeing it from his pants. There is still much too much clothing between Liem and his lover’s body.] And still standing in the middle of the room.
[ Cardan cannot help his soft laugh -- it's relatively rare for Liem to be the impatient one between them, so often does Cardan beat him to the punch. He is pleased with it, and he's pleased with the hurried hands intent on liberating him of his shirt, and he's pleased with all his successes, because-- ]
Because I am almost as stubborn as you are.
[ His palm skitters down to Liem's shoulder -- his other joins it opposite -- and, gently, he turns his husband, once more, to face the mirror. ]
Look.
[ Flushed, dishevelled, and in Cardan's clutches: this is how he wants Liem to see himself. He wants him to see Cardan's hand splayed possessively over his collarbones, long fingers framing his elegant throat. He wants him to see Cardan's throat, with its twin puncture wounds still weeping crimson. Wants Liem to see all the ways in which he is his. How much they have become each other's -- because surely no one could look at the two men in the mirror and not see the possessive hunger animating them both.
Cardan doesn't spend much time looking; after all, he's just seen it, and seeing Liem makes it difficult to focus on seduction -- because all he truly wants is to press him against the nearest surface and menace him with hard kisses until he begs Cardan to be fucked.
Which would run counter to his goals with the mirror, so.
No, he's not looking. He's busy leaning in to run his mouth up the curve of Liem's neck, so he can leave his own bite there, can suck a dark bruise onto pale skin and have Liem see it, for once. His free hand has already insinuated itself back into his husband's trousers, too impatient to wait. ]
[When Cardan peels him away from his body to turn him back toward the mirror, the noise that escapes Liem is nakedly frustrated. Like a dog with a meaty bone, he begrudges being pried away from Cardan’s still-bleeding throat, not to mention from his own mission to expose more of Cardan to his hungry attentions. It is cruel of him to tease like this, dangling indulgence in front of Liem only to snatch it away once he’s had a taste.
Cardan takes such obvious pleasure in driving him mad. How completely Liem adores him.
His eyes find Cardan’s first, meeting his intent stare, dipping longingly down the marked and bloodied line of his throat—spying the blood trailing toward the collar of the shirt he wasn’t quite able to strip from him. His lover looks threateningly delectable and nakedly hungry, so lovely Liem is distracted from his frustration by the heavy pang of desire that thumps against his ribs at the sight of him.
He wants him: his lover, his husband, his prince. He wants him so ceaselessly it threatens to eclipse everything else.
But his gaze flicks reluctantly over to his own dishevelled reflection—strange and almost-familiar, now bloody-lipped and half bare—drawn by the warm slide of Cardan’s palm over his chest, and the accompanying movement of the splayed hand in the mirror. Stillness claims him again for just a moment, uncertainty winding tension round his lungs and up his spine—but Cardan’s mouth is on his throat, and Cardan’s other hand is sliding down his body to find his cock, and these things make his eyes go unfocused and his body arch beneath his touch as breath again stutters out of his lungs.
Startlingly, all at once, he glimpses himself in his reflection: arching back against his lover, panting and heavy-eyed in his embrace, his expression soft with yearning. Mortification grips him as this image crystallizes before his eyes, like one of his most deeply buried fantasies bared to the world and staring him in the face.
He is transfixed, left speechless—and completely unable to tear his eyes away.]
[ It's both surprising and not at all, the way Liem goes stiff in his grasp just before realization seizes him. Cardan, at least, has had time to get used to it -- to the way his husband looks when desire takes him over, the way longing transforms his sharp edges, the way need adorns him like fine jewelry. No portrait could begin to do it justice. It is only fair that Liem be subjected to it too, now; after all, he's been victimizing Cardan with it all this time.
He is, as always, indulgent: leaving one love bite, then another, before he lets his mouth trail up to Liem's ear. His eyes find his husband's in the mirror, warmly amused. ]
Every time. You look like this every time.
[ It has the air of an accusation -- albeit a breathless, enamoured one. His teeth graze along the outside of Liem's ear, gently threatening. ]
How am I supposed to be anything but fiendish about it, Liem?
[ It's impossible, surely. No lover could see him so soft and full of longing and not wish to overwhelm and torment him, to make him squirm with desire. Or, at least, if such people exist, then they are of an entirely different species from Cardan. ]
[Before, Liem had hidden from his reflection; now, he cannot turn his gaze from it. He feels trapped by the undisguised need he is wearing so indulgently, hypnotized by the bliss that Cardan writes effortlessly across his features.
It is impossibly embarrassing; he feels the heated spread of something close to panic climb his throat as Cardan looks at him with that warm, knowing look, pinning him with it like a final verdict. He knows. He must know. Liem is unmasked, so utterly undone in his hands that he’s astounded his thoughts aren’t stamped plain across his reflection’s forehead.
Cardan, I need you. Make me yours.
But it is also frighteningly seductive: The sight of his husband wrapped possessively around him like a dragon with its hoard, caught in the act of putting his hands and his mouth wherever he pleases. His own drugged desire and infatuated submission, painted across flushed skin and trembling through the softened lines of his body. It is the most heartbreaking, impossible thing he has ever seen: his husband, smugly enjoying a treasure that Liem had long thought to be utterly without value.
Every time, his husband says, and Liem stares at him, feeling more vulnerable than he can recall ever being. But because it’s him, because he is locked in the cage of his arms, menaced by his self-satisfied good humour, this seems somehow intimate and erotic instead of terrifying.]
I belong to you, [he murmurs, as though this were the answer to a question Cardan was asking. Not the one he voiced, clearly—but that’s of no concern to Liem as he lifts a hand to slide it tenderly into his lover’s hair.]
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He opens his eyes when directed, curious now what the Undersea Queen could have sent him, in addition to the contract Cardan returned with. While it had briefly occurred to him that she might send a gift to celebrate their new agreement, he had promptly forgotten the thought after Cardan’s luggage arrived and only his husband’s own belongings seemed to emerge.
He is greeted by a pale, lean-featured man standing next to Cardan’s familiar reflection, and is startled suddenly rigid for a moment as he registers the unexpected sight before him. Only when he has already jumped a little beneath his husband’s hands—and the man before him has as well—does his conscious mind make sense of the image, forcing its way through his tense, wary stillness like a blush of ink soaking through paper.
The man in the reflection, standing next to his husband, is him. For the first time in his quarter-century of life, he is looking at himself in the mirror.
For a long moment, bewilderment keeps him speechless. He watches in real time as his frozen-blank expression creases into a frown of hesitant scrutiny, his pale eyes darting around to glance at the golden frame, his brows nudging together to create a little double wrinkle right between them. Though Liem glances over the apparition in the glass, this vaguely familiar man wearing his clothing, it does give every appearance of being his reflection: a reflection he’s supposed to not possess.
He mutters absently, completely baffled,] My hair’s parted on the wrong side…
[In paintings, it’s always been on the right.]
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Cardan just hadn't expected him to be so endearing about it.
His own reflection wears a smile he can only describe as embarrassingly fond; he has to hide it against Liem's hair, pressing a kiss to the aforementioned part. ]
I confess I had my doubts about his promises, but the horrid little gnome has earned his renown.
[ After all, there he is: Liem, looking like he always does, pale and sharp-eyed and enchantingly serious. Cardan always wishes to kiss the furrow between his brows; it is strange, for once, that he cannot -- by dint of not facing it.
He leans his cheek against his husband's temple to grin at him instead, obviously pleased with himself. His hands have slid down Liem's body to drape loosely over his waist. It is unexpectedly thrilling, too, to see themselves together -- the way Liem folds so neatly into his arms, slim and sharply elegant in his impeccable suit.
They make a dashing pair, but he already knew that. ]
Do you believe me now? No portrait of yours has ever captured so charming a frown.
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His only solace is Cardan’s steady presence at his back, radiating satisfaction as he drapes himself around him. The obvious pleasure his husband takes in viewing his reflection means it must look as it should; it must look truly like him, just as Cardan’s own reflection does. Liem cannot manage to be truly distressed when his husband is resting so contentedly against him.
But his hands are still twitchy, and he is still beset by that uncertain frown as he leans back into his husband’s casual embrace.]
Certainly none of my portraits have captured me looking thus, [he agrees neutrally, after a moment’s stare. Liem would much rather look at Cardan grinning from just beside his face, and does, feeling his anxiety recede some as he observes his unsubtle good humour. So bolstered, he reaches for Cardan’s hands, that he might use them to wind his arms more firmly about himself.]
Was this wholly Queen Orlagh’s idea, or did you have something to do with it?
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She deserves most of the credit, I'm afraid.
But… [ He pauses, grins. His mouth caresses the edge of Liem’s ear, indulgent. ] There is a piece of me in that mirror.
The smith required something true to weave the magic upon. [ A memory, Grimsen had told him, doing a poor job of hiding the greedy twinkle in his eye.
Cardan had not wanted to part with a memory. ]
I gave him one of my dreams about you. [ He glances back at mirror Liem, scanning his features, the lines of his body, his hands, his mouth. If one looks very closely, focuses overmuch, he is a little soft-edged — a little ethereal in a way real mirror images aren’t. ]
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He can feel each movement of his lover’s mouth, feel his familiar embrace, hear the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the heart thumping quietly against his back. Focusing on these things helps diminish the odd feeling that he is watching his husband embrace someone else.
He regards the whole of the mirror properly now, astonishment catching back up with him as his unease recedes. Even though he had known that Faerie was a land of magic, that supposedly dreams could be bought and sold there, he had never imagined that something like this could emerge from that place.]
It is lovely.
[The carvings of the frame are very reminiscent of his family’s crest, which he supposes isn’t surprising. What is surprising is that Cardan wished enough to see Orlagh’s gift completed that he surrendered something of his own to make it so. But then, Cardan regularly gives parts of himself to Liem, with every appearance of deriving possessive pleasure from the act, so perhaps it was foolish of Liem not to expect this.
Tipping his head back against his husband’s shoulder, he turns his face away from their reflections for the moment so he can press a kiss against Cardan’s jaw.]
You must have chosen a good one.
[For all his unease at suddenly having a reflection, he cannot deny that the man in the glass looks entirely convincing, and less grave than Liem had always supposed he might.]
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[ He frowns anyway, indulging in the inevitably futile impulse to try and remember something he'd given away. All that exists in the dream's place is a grey absence, muted and soft. ]
I imagine it was quite lurid. Most of my dreams about you were.
[ Over and over, he had gone to bed in the Undersea and woken up with his heart racing and his body restless with longing for someone who wasn't there. His arms tighten around Liem, instinctively, when he recalls it -- the empty bed, his tangled sheets, the mix of lust and anger at being separated.
He sighs, a little bereft even now, even as he breathes in his husband. Liem hadn't looked... pleased about the mirror, and still doesn't -- but Cardan's husband is a cautious man. It will, he assumes, take a while for Liem to get used to seeing his own face.
...though perhaps Cardan can help him acclimatize. His gaze finds his own, and he raises an eyebrow, as if to ask his reflection, Now?
But of course the answer has always been yes.
His hand wanders up -- fingertips dragging over Liem's chest, his collar, tracing lightly over the long, pale column of his throat. It's different, watching himself do it. It feels like cheating, to see so much of it at once. ]
...we look good together, [ he will say, and there is something archly considering lurking in his voice. ]
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It is rare for Liem to recall dreams that aren’t taut with anxiety, so he can only be glad no such creation would be necessary for the man reflected alongside him.
The transit of warm fingertips from his clothed chest to his throat catches him off-guard, occupied as he’d been with nuzzling the tender space beneath Cardan’s pointed ear. He feels himself go squirmily tense for a moment, and then relax once more against his husband’s body as the shivery pleasure of that wandering touch passes through him.
He does not look back at the mirror.]
That was not a matter for debate, surely.
[Liem is very tempted now to turn around. He has seen the queen’s gift, and now he would like to kiss his husband and lure him the rest of the way to their bed. This seems to him like the most reasonable thing in the world, and yet, he suspects his beloved spouse has some other scheme in mind. Liem murmurs against his neck,] But I cannot kiss you while staring at my own reflection.
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You are kissing me right now.
[ Yes, of course that's not what Liem means, but nevertheless. Of course, his husband is right to suspect him of being up to something -- because he never isn't, and because he certainly didn't give Grimsen his sex dream just so they could use the mirror chastely.
He hooks lazy fingers into the loop of Liem's tie, watching himself dispense with the knot. Liem seems hesitant to embrace the mirror -- Cardan supposes that seeing himself after a lifetime of the opposite might be a little odd. Fortunately, Cardan is not possessed of such limitations.
He meets his own eyes in the mirror and smiles, ignoring the way his tail is tapping impatiently against his own thigh. Perhaps Liem is right that their looking good together was not ever in question, but he's not certain his lover realizes just how delectable he looks -- caught in Cardan's arms, the elegant line of his jaw outlined in profile, his mouth on Cardan's neck. Selfishly, Cardan wants to keep watching him just as much as he wants Liem to see himself. ]
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Instead of bothering with… my reflection, yes.
[His reflection. Still a strange thing to say; still a strange thing to have. But despite the inarguable novelty of being able to see himself in the mirror, he finds himself oddly nervous to glance into it while so enthralled by his lover. Obviously Cardan sees him lose his composure every time they couple; Liem is the only one of them for whom the sight would be at all unfamiliar. And still, it seems vulnerable for him to see it himself, for Cardan to watch him seeing it—as if the reflection might multiply his nakedness as well as his image.
As if to banish this thought, he slides a hand up, fingers cupping the back of Cardan’s neck, and looks up at him, twisting so he can pull him closer, down to where he can kiss his mouth instead of just his neck and jaw. If he is inconveniencing Cardan’s voyeuristic designs, making the task of sneaking glances at that mirror more challenging, he shows no sign of remorse about it at all.]
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How dangerous, that his husband clearly knows this now. How dangerous, that he's willing to use it to his advantage. And Cardan, who has ever been drawn to danger, to sharp things against his tender skin, is more than willing to step into the trap.
Besides, the mirror will be there when he's done kissing Liem to his satisfaction. It's only been a few nights since his return, and his husband has insisted on working through an alarming number of them. Cardan has not nearly sated his month-long need for him, still.
The fact that he has never once successfully sated his need for Liem in the months prior is immaterial, surely. ]
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Even though this, too, makes just a hint of anxiety curl in his belly. But that is only the ever-present fear that accompanies all precious things in his life; the more Cardan gives in to Liem’s tender demands, the tighter his embrace is and the more hungry his kisses, the more stubbornly that little fear reminds him of what he has to lose.
So he is all the more indulgent as he claims his kisses, twists around fully to stretch up along the length of Cardan’s body. He may as well enjoy the heat and shape of Cardan against him; he may as well enjoy how greedy for him his husband has become—impossibly even more than before, Liem thinks—since his return.
He will nibble at the tender curve of Cardan’s lip, eager to taste him. Eager to tempt him, too. Surely this is a finer prize than any reflection, no matter how new or how titillating.]
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...even if it is just his desire to avoid the mirror.
Cardan has no intention of letting his husband escape from self-awareness, but they needn't worry about that just now. Besides, if Cardan keeps kissing him, Liem will have no opportunity to protest Cardan undressing him right then and there.
One advantage to waking up -- and going to sleep, and sometimes fucking -- in the cavernous darkness of their unlit bedroom is that he has gotten exceptionally good at not needing to see clothing: his own, Liem's. His hands should make quick work of Liem's jacket, his waistcoat, and the buttons of his shirt. The layers are always maddening; he cannot recall ever being so eager to splay his hands over a lover's bare chest before. He cannot be fully patient for it, either: rarely does he get more than three quarters down the row of buttons before sliding greedy hands under the shirt. Every time, it feels like relief; every time, it makes heat coil tight and possessive in his belly. His husband, his lover, held just so in the covetous grasp of Cardan's hands. ]
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Those hands just make him feel so at home. He belongs in Cardan’s clutches; he has no words to explain the way that letting his lover strip him bare and lay claim to him makes him feel, but he knows it soothes some feverish, desperate part of him, and he knows he will never tire of it, no matter how many times he touches him like this.
He wants Cardan to be just as ravenous for him as Liem is for his touch. He hungers for the way his teeth make Cardan’s breath catch and his grip on him tighten. And, perhaps foolishly, he cannot make himself think of anything else just now. He is too busy kissing him, between breaths that hitch and stutter as warm hands move over his skin. Too busy threading his fingers through Cardan’s hair and tugging loose the fastenings at his collar.
It is only when he catches glimpses of them from the corner of his eye that he thinks to worry at all—but he is easily distracted from this thought, stubbornly determined as he is to avoid contemplating the mirror at all.]
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He wants them back.
It's an obvious trap, but that has never deterred Liem before. And anyway, would he truly refuse Cardan when his hands are pushing the layers of shirt and jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders? When they slide down his flanks, follow the steep angle of his hipbone to dip greedy fingers inside his trousers? More even than the thrill of Liem's teeth, Cardan has ever craved the thrill of his pleasure.
He looks at Liem, his mouth curving, delighted and insouciant. ]
Claim me, husband.
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Reckless.
[His murmur is wistful as he lets his hands fall, allowing the layers of his clothing to slide from him to pool on the floor. Even when Cardan’s hands slide down his flanks, into his trousers, shivery sensation making Liem gasp against his neck, he resists the urge to give his husband what he has demanded.]
The last marks have scarcely gone.
[As ever, Cardan is the one to wilfully ignore the fact that his own blood is a finite resource. Liem cannot bite him whenever he wishes—much as the thought of it sends another greedy thrill straight down to his cock. He hungers for it, more ravenously even than he does for Cardan’s blood: the exhilaration of claiming Cardan so indulgently for himself; the greed and impatience it inspires in his husband. He wants it incessantly, unquenchably.
It makes him liable to forget to take care—and he cannot afford to forget. Not with Cardan, whom he can never stop wanting at all.]
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But that doesn't mean Cardan will stop trying, and tonight he is spurned on by a particularly important purpose. He wants Liem to see himself, blood-drunk and helplessly eager -- wants him to see that enchanting, vulnerable need on his own face. Maybe then his husband would understand just what watching him does to Cardan.
Besides, Liem hasn't said no. ]
I've gone a month without, [ he counters, wrapping warm fingers around Liem to stroke, eager for the silken weight of his cock in his grip. He's breathless, still, from the transit of Liem's mouth over the fading bruises on his throat, from the gasp his husband buried against his skin.
His free hand wanders up, greedy fingertips tracing the line of Liem's jaw, sliding into his hair to cradle the back of his head. Cardan wants him to stay right there, so he may wrest with his desire from an intimate distance. ]
If anything, you're still in arrears.
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And yet. And yet, this logic does nothing to lessen his desire, or to distract him from the seductive slide of Cardan’s warm fingers over his skin.]
How am… am I the one owing in this situation?
[He breathes the query against his husband’s neck, gripping at his shirt as he resists the urge to squirm into the pleasure of his touch. He is the one pressing compulsive, hungry kisses against Cardan’s throat. He is the one with the promise of Cardan’s blood still tempting him treacherously after weeks of only flat-tasting animal’s blood to sate him. If either of them is in arrears, surely it should be his husband, who exacted his promise to sup on no-one else and then left him to his own devices for the entirety of his Undersea trip.
It is entirely like Cardan to spin things this way. Liem nips at the tender skin beneath his jaw, a little punitive in his teased and growing impatience.]
You terrible man.
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You have left me with a debt-- [ Their agreement was mutual, after all. ] --which you are... mm, refusing to let me repay.
[ He should be more sore about that, really, but it's difficult when his husband's mouth is so terribly, enchantingly distracting. It's cruel of Liem, he thinks, to deny him his bite when he's already doing so much to remind Cardan of its pleasure. ]
You call me reckless and terrible, [ which he greatly enjoys, don't get him wrong, ] yet have I not taken care, husband? Have I not been dutiful in curating my good health?
[ Of course, he doesn't actually want to argue about this, because he doesn't want to fight with Liem right now. It's why the fingers on Liem's cock remain unrelenting in their indulgent stroking; it's why he's still holding his husband close, unwilling to let him pull away from the temptation of Cardan's hammering pulse. ]
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You can talk me into anything, [he complains, breathless as he leans against his lover’s chest. Cool fingers working their way down his buttons slide greedily inside the half-undone shirt, splaying over heated skin.
He would be worried that his weakness for indulging Cardan is so unavoidably obvious, but this, too, is something he wants to give his husband. Even if being indulged at every turn only makes him grow bored, Liem still wants to give him the satisfaction first.
He bites. The rush of it trembles through him, makes him arch against his lover and squirm beneath his grip. Liem swallows back a moan as the sweet pleasure of Cardan’s blood tangles up in the warm solidity of him pressed close, the beguiling comfort of his scent and the demanding caress of his hand.
This time he won’t let himself drink so heedlessly—but still, the bliss of it seduces him, as it always does. Still, he feels himself melt a little in his husband’s embrace, even as the world goes bright and sharp around him—Cardan’s scent even more beguiling, his breaths somehow more musical. He drags his tongue over his lover’s throat, lewdly conciliatory.]
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Only that which you already desire, [ he breathes, distracted fingers sweeping up to pet Liem's hair while he pursues said want. ] I am but the voice of your neglected self-indulgence.
[ And how good that it is a duty he was practically born to perform. To coax this stubborn, determinedly selfless man to selfishness -- what greater calling for a man has known nothing but entitlement all of his life? ]
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Not that it makes any difference if he has. Either way, Liem feels flushed and sensitive with greed, suddenly impatient for Cardan’s demanding caress and hungry kisses, which is surely just how his husband wanted him. Everything else fades away to irrelevance, leaving him tipping his face up to seek his lover with hungry eyes.]
My self-indulgence is questioning why we are still half-dressed. [With his free hand he tugs at Cardan’s shirt, intent on freeing it from his pants. There is still much too much clothing between Liem and his lover’s body.] And still standing in the middle of the room.
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Because I am almost as stubborn as you are.
[ His palm skitters down to Liem's shoulder -- his other joins it opposite -- and, gently, he turns his husband, once more, to face the mirror. ]
Look.
[ Flushed, dishevelled, and in Cardan's clutches: this is how he wants Liem to see himself. He wants him to see Cardan's hand splayed possessively over his collarbones, long fingers framing his elegant throat. He wants him to see Cardan's throat, with its twin puncture wounds still weeping crimson. Wants Liem to see all the ways in which he is his. How much they have become each other's -- because surely no one could look at the two men in the mirror and not see the possessive hunger animating them both.
Cardan doesn't spend much time looking; after all, he's just seen it, and seeing Liem makes it difficult to focus on seduction -- because all he truly wants is to press him against the nearest surface and menace him with hard kisses until he begs Cardan to be fucked.
Which would run counter to his goals with the mirror, so.
No, he's not looking. He's busy leaning in to run his mouth up the curve of Liem's neck, so he can leave his own bite there, can suck a dark bruise onto pale skin and have Liem see it, for once. His free hand has already insinuated itself back into his husband's trousers, too impatient to wait. ]
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Cardan takes such obvious pleasure in driving him mad. How completely Liem adores him.
His eyes find Cardan’s first, meeting his intent stare, dipping longingly down the marked and bloodied line of his throat—spying the blood trailing toward the collar of the shirt he wasn’t quite able to strip from him. His lover looks threateningly delectable and nakedly hungry, so lovely Liem is distracted from his frustration by the heavy pang of desire that thumps against his ribs at the sight of him.
He wants him: his lover, his husband, his prince. He wants him so ceaselessly it threatens to eclipse everything else.
But his gaze flicks reluctantly over to his own dishevelled reflection—strange and almost-familiar, now bloody-lipped and half bare—drawn by the warm slide of Cardan’s palm over his chest, and the accompanying movement of the splayed hand in the mirror. Stillness claims him again for just a moment, uncertainty winding tension round his lungs and up his spine—but Cardan’s mouth is on his throat, and Cardan’s other hand is sliding down his body to find his cock, and these things make his eyes go unfocused and his body arch beneath his touch as breath again stutters out of his lungs.
Startlingly, all at once, he glimpses himself in his reflection: arching back against his lover, panting and heavy-eyed in his embrace, his expression soft with yearning. Mortification grips him as this image crystallizes before his eyes, like one of his most deeply buried fantasies bared to the world and staring him in the face.
He is transfixed, left speechless—and completely unable to tear his eyes away.]
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He is, as always, indulgent: leaving one love bite, then another, before he lets his mouth trail up to Liem's ear. His eyes find his husband's in the mirror, warmly amused. ]
Every time. You look like this every time.
[ It has the air of an accusation -- albeit a breathless, enamoured one. His teeth graze along the outside of Liem's ear, gently threatening. ]
How am I supposed to be anything but fiendish about it, Liem?
[ It's impossible, surely. No lover could see him so soft and full of longing and not wish to overwhelm and torment him, to make him squirm with desire. Or, at least, if such people exist, then they are of an entirely different species from Cardan. ]
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It is impossibly embarrassing; he feels the heated spread of something close to panic climb his throat as Cardan looks at him with that warm, knowing look, pinning him with it like a final verdict. He knows. He must know. Liem is unmasked, so utterly undone in his hands that he’s astounded his thoughts aren’t stamped plain across his reflection’s forehead.
Cardan, I need you. Make me yours.
But it is also frighteningly seductive: The sight of his husband wrapped possessively around him like a dragon with its hoard, caught in the act of putting his hands and his mouth wherever he pleases. His own drugged desire and infatuated submission, painted across flushed skin and trembling through the softened lines of his body. It is the most heartbreaking, impossible thing he has ever seen: his husband, smugly enjoying a treasure that Liem had long thought to be utterly without value.
Every time, his husband says, and Liem stares at him, feeling more vulnerable than he can recall ever being. But because it’s him, because he is locked in the cage of his arms, menaced by his self-satisfied good humour, this seems somehow intimate and erotic instead of terrifying.]
I belong to you, [he murmurs, as though this were the answer to a question Cardan was asking. Not the one he voiced, clearly—but that’s of no concern to Liem as he lifts a hand to slide it tenderly into his lover’s hair.]
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