[As Cardan's mouth caresses his scars, Nikolai remembers the rush of relief he felt that first time he put his lips to the black fractures marking his skin. Before then, nobody had ever touched him like that. When he contemplated the future, the hazy inevitability of a bride, he wondered if she — nameless, faceless — could tolerate touching his naked body. Looking at him as he truly is under the veneer of the golden king. And he remembers finding the rough scars knotting Cardan's back, thinking in that moment that something other than the desperate heat of the red powder connected them.
It was perhaps the most honest moment they've ever shared, unwrapped from the clever words they both use like pieces on a chessboard. They're friends, he thinks, or something close enough. But it's quite a different friendship from what he shares with anyone else.]
As if you don't seek my own like pretty treasures to add to your collection?
[He hooks Cardan's lower lip with a curl of his finger. Cupping both sides of his face, he tilts in for a kiss. Lingering, savoring, as if deciding whether or not he likes the taste. But of course he does.]
no subject
It was perhaps the most honest moment they've ever shared, unwrapped from the clever words they both use like pieces on a chessboard. They're friends, he thinks, or something close enough. But it's quite a different friendship from what he shares with anyone else.]
As if you don't seek my own like pretty treasures to add to your collection?
[He hooks Cardan's lower lip with a curl of his finger. Cupping both sides of his face, he tilts in for a kiss. Lingering, savoring, as if deciding whether or not he likes the taste. But of course he does.]