aionlogs | [open] post-imprisonment log

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liem talbott: champion

[open] post-imprisonment log

WHO: Liem & you!
WHAT: Liem is released from the naughty-Kenoma dungeons
WHERE: The Citadel, possibly Achamoth proper
WHEN: After his release on Firaseri 6th
WARNINGS: References to Liem’s imprisonment, including brainwashing, torture, & self-harm

I. The Wounded Option

[Liem is released from the Citadel’s dungeons without fanfare, staggering from his audience with the Regent back to his own rooms and sequestering himself there to recover from the most immediate after-effects of Dionys’s ministrations—or to at least attempt to. Rest is out of the question; the stings and aches throbbing through him would make sleep a struggle even if he could close his eyes without being transported immediately back into Dionys’s clutches. His mind feels like a sieve, his thoughts slipping away from him like water and leaving him only with the jagged edges of the past ten days. The best he can do is nurse his filthy and abused body while he tries to piece his mind back together.

He spends a lot of time alone over the ensuing days, but the observant or well-informed may have noted his return from the occasional servant delivering food or medicine to his room, or from hearing the sounds of activity within it. The sounds of running water are especially obvious, should one happen to walk past while he’s washing.

But of course, he has to tend to his injuries all over again once he’s stripped off the bandages and washed away the salve. Some of them are easier to reach than others, especially given the lingering pain involved in moving around too much. After bandaging his arms and tending the half-healed cuts and bruises on his chest, a short hiss punctuates his attempts to minister the lashes on his back.

Any knock on his door is meet with a brief silence, followed by the door cracking open and Liem’s dark, tired eyes peering out from it.]

Can I help you?

II. The Insomnia Option

[It doesn’t take all that long for restlessness to lure Liem out from the confines of his rooms. The walls start to creep in on him after just a couple days; the quiet starts to become oppressive. It’s too much like his cell in the depths of the Citadel, and it’s too much like his cell in the cathedral back home. Leaving the barren stone and cold, empty bed behind, he ventures out into the Citadel at large, seeking something to keep him occupied.

a. The middle of the night is a strange time to find anyone in the kitchens, but that’s where Liem is right now, smelling of oranges and cinnamon, his sleeves folded back to the elbows and his head bent over a small pie filled with some kind of soft white cheese. Flour dusts the bruises and half-healed bites on his wrists and forearms as he carefully lays a lattice of dough strips over the top, lifting his eyes from his work only briefly as he hears someone come in.

b. Regardless of how sleepless his nights (and his days) have been, or how residual aches from his injuries still plague his waking hours, Liem still turns to training as something that can occupy him even while he’s only operating at 50% at best. Target practice is something he could do even in his sleep, so the deep shadows beneath his eyes and the lethargy in his movements don’t stop him from finding a target to practise with in the pre-dawn hours when most of the Citadel is still dreaming. Stress and exhaustion have made him jumpy, though; the sound of approaching footsteps filters into his awareness slowly, and then in a rush all at once as he whirls to point his crossbow at whoever just walked in.

c. During the day, Liem mostly keeps out of the way in parts of the Citadel that don’t see much use. There’s a spare room near the top of a tower that stays empty for hours at a time, and it’s here that he can be found curled up on a window seat, gazing out of the narrow window while he scratches at a notebook with a stick of charcoal. Or at least, that’s what he’s been spending much of the afternoon doing, if the formless doodles and patterns scrawled across the pages are any indication. Liem himself isn’t available for comment, leaned as he is against the cool stone wall in the grip of a shallow and uneasy sleep.]

III. Wildcard

[Liem can be found around the Citadel or, later on, even out in Achamoth itself. His inbox is also open for post-imprisonment communion! Feel free to hit me up on plurk at Sporelett or DM me on discord if you want to hash out something else.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Matt laughs, again with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. A bit of a thrill, too: one that starts at the base of his spine and crawls up, up, coiling around his heart and shuddering down his arm. Warming his veins down to the tip end of his missing fingers. It's a heady consideration, the idea that something about him--about him and Liem--overcame Liem's natural hesitations. Like, all rationalizations and morality and appropriateness aside, is there anything hotter than someone finding you so irresistible that even when they know they shouldn't, they just have to have you? ]

That is ... noted. And super flattering.

[ Matt knocks back the rest of his drink at a go. Gasps. Offers Liem a smile. ]

What about dancing in semi-public places? Do you do that?

[A wry smile slowly steals over Liem’s expression as he regards Matt from his place next to him on the couch. He hadn’t meant to be flattering, but he’ll certainly take that, if that’s how he wants to interpret Liem’s poor head for liquor and latent desperation for intimacy. Besides, he’s right to suppose that he’s at least a little bit irresistible, at least by Liem’s standards.]

Is that what the people in here are doing?

[He takes a more modest drink from his glass, not being quite willing to follow Matt’s example and down the rest all at once, and lifts an eyebrow. He’s used to dances involving a bit more structure and a little less gyrating, but perhaps that’s just his Taldor-centric bias coming out.]

Give me a moment to finish my drink, and you can find out.

[ Matt huffs, amused. ]

I guess it's a little more like a rhythmic hug, but that's the way they do it where I come from. Colloquially, at least. [ Nobody on this doomed world needs to know about Matt and Katy-Rose's misadventures with Northern California cotillion. ] Take your time. I think another act's about to come on.

[ The current music is feathering away, notes drifting softly into the air like evaporating droplets. Anticipation hangs in the space where noise used to be. ]

[Liem’s smile grows slightly more crooked at Matt’s description of the local dance style—and apparently his own world’s as well. It certainly implies some different things about the purpose of the activity in this particular circumstance, which were not at all true of dances he’s taken part in back home. Fortunately, he doubts that this particular dance will be difficult to pick up.]

How charmingly foreign, [he murmurs, half to himself, as the music begins to draw quiet. Despite the consternation the last performance caused him, or perhaps because of it, his eyes slide curiously around the club, drawn by the anticipation hanging in the air. His drink is neglected for the time being.]

That's me, [ he notes amiably. ] Foreign but charming.

Or at least I hope so.

[ Matt said "take your time," which means he now has to let Liem take his time. For a moment, he occupies himself with regarding the other man, one fingertip trailing slowly around the rim of his glass. Poor Liem still looks a bit like a cat that's been trapped in a small room, but he's been so sweet talking to Matt just now. And he was sweet on the roof, too. Gentle.

The lights change on the little stage. First they plunge black, and black-clad workers can be made out (even by Matt's eyes) as they wheel away the acrobat's clear pool. When the lights come back up, it's with a harsh, scarlet-lensed spotlight that illuminates two male figures draped in long hooded robes. ]

[At the moment, Liem is striking a balance between reserved glances around the dim, body-filled room, sharp eyes set in a carefully neutral face, and a softer regard that steals over him when he turns his attention back to his companion. There’s nowhere he can look in this thrumming, body-filled space that doesn’t assault him with invitation—to relax, to enjoy, to look and touch and drink and indulge. At least Matt’s attention is more of a gentle coaxing.]

I think you are.

[He agrees softly as the lights on-stage plunge dark and the pool is wheeled away. He charmed Liem into this little hole in the wall easily enough, after all, and it should be obvious that only his present company is keeping Liem here willingly.

Case in point: the way his attention seems to slide as if repelled away from the stage as the new act begins in earnest, only to be dragged back with scandalized fascination. This, he’d have to admit, is much more obviously a dance than anything that was happening on the establishment’s dance floor, but it’s a far more erotic performance than any he’d seen at parties in Taldor. The music does indeed seem to be an integral part of the experience.

He recalls what Matt had said weeks ago in Venera: Shame holds you back. At the moment, as turns his attention with sudden studiousness to finishing the rest of his drink, he wishes it was doing a better job.]

[ The performance is ... well, it's the only thing that could peel Matt's attention away from Liem right now. He's seen burlesque before, but until he came to Achamoth, he'd never seen anything exactly like this. The dancers move with such grace and power, desire infusing every movement--as if the two of them really are contentious lovers, and this opportunity to witness their encounter is purely accidental.

When Liem finishes his glass, Matt slides slowly from his seat and stands. His right hand stretches out, fingers unfurling to coax Liem up. ]

I'm not as good as they are, [ he notes wryly. ] But maybe if you close your eyes and pretend ...?

[As the music plays, Liem doesn't notice the speed at which he's going through the rest of his drink; he's too distracted by the performers on the stage, by the wordless story of their arresting dance, and by his own needy hunger to be touched by another person. In almost no time at all he gets to the bottom of the glass, regarding it with quiet surprise as Matt begins to slide back to his feet.

Glancing at the unfurling hand extended towards him, Liem sets his glass firmly back on the table.]

That would be a waste of a lovely view.

[He reaches out and takes Matt's hand as he regains his feet, looking demurely up at him.]

Besides, how will you show me how it's done if my eyes are closed?

[ Matt is on a bit of an emotional seesaw. Just when he starts to fret that Liem isn't having fun, or won't want to stay, Liem does something like this--says something that makes Matt laugh or looks at him in a way that warms his chest. It's not predictable at all, but it makes for a highly enjoyable ride.

Matt's fingers wrap around Liem's, and he steps gently backwards to draw him onto the dancefloor. Matt may be lacking a limb he once relied on, but he still knows how to navigate among bodies in space. He moves intuitively, easily, until he finds them a patch of floor surrounded by a decent amount of breathing room. Matt steps towards Liem, closing the distance between them until their chests are just brushing. His fingers remain tangled up with Liem's; his left arm ghosts up the line of Liem's spine to rest just under his shoulder blade. The stump end twinges, but Matt breathes deeply until the feeling passes. It is fortunately momentary. ]

So, ah, [ he says softly, pitched towards Liem's ear, ] this is how we start. And then we just ...

[ Matt steps to the right, his weight shifting gently. Steps back to the left. The music seems to demand more dramatic choreography, like the dance playing out onstage, but Matt finds that there's still a thrill of excitement in this modest movement. His chest to Liem's chest, their fingers intertwined. ]

[Surrendering his hand to Matt’s grasp, Liem lets himself be drawn onto the dance floor, weaving between the swaying bodies grouped in pairs about the space. The air feels very warm about them, and the brush of their bodies where they touch is even warmer. As Matt winds an arm around his waist, he hesitates, then loops his own around Matt’s neck.

Their dance is mostly intimacy, and not much choreography. He follows Matt’s lead and moves with him when he steps one way, then the other, keeping alert to the shifts in his weight and the angle of his spine. He is very conscious of the movement of his shoulders beneath his touch, the handless arm cradling his back, the bright, fascinating smell of his nearness. That more than anything else makes him forget the torrid dance going on atop the stage at the edge of the room.]

Matt, [he says, breath tickling his ear over the slide of the music.] Thank you, for asking me out. I haven’t left the Citadel much at all since… well, just of late.

[ Liem, meanwhile, feels remarkably cool swaying against him. It's a sensation Matt recalls from their tryst on the rooftop, one he's tried to hold close as the weeks have dragged on. But inevitably, as all sensations and all enlightenment must, it faded away. He's quietly pleased to have it back.

Liem speaks by his ear, and Matt's head tips ever so slightly, almost ticklishly, to listen. The gust of Liem's breath against sensitive nerves feels wonderful; what he has to say, decidedly less so. ]

Of course. [ Murmured sympathy. ] It was so hard, in Venera. I don't blame you at all for staying in.

[ He could choose the path of scouring honesty here. Admit I killed someone. But Matt can't bear to puncture this moment with something so bleak, especially when it won't change anything. It's like Paul said: Decide the goal is worth it, and that nothing will change your mind. ]

Still ... I'm really glad you came out with me.

[ Impulsively, Matt's left arm tightens around Liem, and he squeezes his hand. ]

It's nice to relax a bit, isn't it?

[Liem frowns slightly in the face of Matt’s sympathy, a flicker in the dance floor’s inconsistent light. Being in Venera was hard—at first. It was so hard that he couldn’t bear to commit himself to the cause that he was sent there for, and that his fellows managed to dedicate themselves to. So he simply hadn’t—and that was the easiest thing in the world.

It had been a weight off his soul to save those he could while people like Matt and Minegishi and Paul dirtied their hands following the Regent’s orders. In the end, that little act of mercy and rebellion would accomplish nothing at all, and even at the time he’d known it on some unacknowledged level. What he’d done, he’d done purely to feel better about himself.

That is what has been hard for him. The guilt of his selfishness and his failure followed him out of the Regent’s dungeons and has been pursuing him ever since.

But this… Unsavoury as this place is, and incongruous as it is for him to find anything resembling relaxation here, perhaps it’s what he needs right now. Everything about this outing is so removed from anything he would normally spend his time doing, the distance makes the shame that’e been haunting him easier to put aside for the moment. He squeezes Matt a little closer in turn, his frown smoothing into a slightly melancholy smile.]

It’s nice to be distracted, [is what he says.] Just for a little while.

Mmm.

[ Another small sound of sympathy, this one the perfect midway point between an aching murmur and a sigh of pleasure. Matt feels both: sorrow for Liem's pain, relief at his nearness. His nose draws along the arch of Liem's cheekbone, as he leans slightly more of his weight onto him--not a slump so much as a gentle drape. ]

Well. [ His lips are at the shell of Liem's ear now, so he can feel the care Matt takes in shaping the words, each one a small caress meant only for him. Warm breath and the savoring of every syllable. ] I'm happy to distract you. If you want that.

[ His neck stretches as he bends his head to place a soft, precise kiss to the lobe of Liem's ear, just above his earring. ]

[When Matt leans closer to nuzzle against his cheekbone, Liem feels his face warm in the wake of the gentle contact, soft and captivating. His breath catches in his throat as lips find his ear. He feels Matt's heart thump quietly against his chest. The crowd of dancing people around them seems very large and very close.

He does want to be distracted. He tips his head to meet Matt's lips—just a little. Just for a brief moment, simply to indulge the gentle caress of those words. Surely no one could begrudge him such a small, fleeting pleasure, savoured in passing as they take an evening's refuge from the black, looming realities of the Citadel. Surely he's allowed a scrap of intimacy to see him through the coming days.]

You are. [His fingers curl against the back of Matt's shirt, half grip, half caress.] You're very distracting.

[ Matt sighs against Liem's ear. Liem's fingers move at his back, their touch intelligent and inquisitive, and as he says distracting, Matt makes a pleased hum of satisfaction. ]

Good.

That's good.

[ It's not, he can't help but notice, an answer to whether Liem wants Matt to distract him. But Liem wouldn't be here otherwise, would he? Here, now, in Matt's arms, inclining gently towards the ghosting touch of his mouth. Matt's teeth graze Liem's ear, barely firm enough to be felt; as he sways, his lips and nose brush at the crook of Liem's neck. Matt wants to kiss him. He wants to rock his hips against him. But for the moment, he lets the wanting stay where it is: under the skin, unexpressed save for these fleeting half-touches. He lets his mouth glide along the length of Liem's neck, as if the terrain is some delicious treat he can't decide where to take a bite from. ]

[Despite the ache in his chest at Matt's nearness, despite the shiver that travels down his spine at the brush of teeth over his ear, despite the way the room around him seems to soften into irrelevance in the face of their embrace, Liem tells himself that he hasn't pulled away simply because there's no need to. A relatively chaste brush of lips is nothing to be worried about; it isn't as though they're making out in the middle of the dance floor. He would obviously never do something like that, anyway. He isn't in any danger of being led around by the nose because he's so desperate to be touched, to be kissed, to be held. This just isn't an especially big deal.

Never mind the flutter of his lashes as Matt nuzzles into his neck. Never mind the soft, almost plaintive wanting sound that slips out to get lost in the club's noise. Never mind the way he pulls Matt a little closer, or slides his thumb down his hand to stroke the underside of his wrist. They'll be back to dancing in just a minute, in any case.]

[ Oh--that noise slides right into Matt's belly. Liem's thumb on his wrist turns his skin into something that buzzes and thrills, electric with sensitivity. Matt's mouth stays where it is, lips pressing together in a slow, lazy drag that is only not a kiss on the barest of technicalities. His heart has started beating faster against Liem's chest.

He could slow it down if he wanted to. But there's a thrill in letting himself feel exactly what his body wants him to, a thrill only sharpened by his suspicions about Liem. Liem's pallor, the memory of his teeth on Matt's thigh, his remarks about blushing--Matt's suspicions began as vapor, but over the weeks, they've condensed to a near certainty. Despite his history, he doesn't mind. It'd be shitty to judge Liem based on something a totally different person did. And maybe it's fucked up, but even after everything, he still loves being drunk from. ]

[The slow, swaying rhythm of their dance may ill suit the bold strain of music accompanying the current act, but the insistent heartbeat fluttering against Liem’s chest provides a most compelling accompaniment. It’s terribly, irresistibly exciting, making him feel hot and nervy and impatient. He swallows as lips caress his neck, the skin there alight and begging for touch, and the fingers of his right hand itch with the desire to slide up and into Matt’s hair. He’s having a hard time thinking about dancing very much at all.]

Oh…

[His voice sighs fretfully out as he forces himself to loosen the arm around Matt’s shoulders by approximately an iota. His body desperately wants to find out where this might be going, but his dignity refuses to entertain a potential future where he gets a boner in the middle of this dance floor.]

Distract me much more, [he teases gently,] and I won’t be fit for civil company.

[ Matt chuckles into the crook of Liem's neck, the sound slightly breathy. With what feels like a great effort--both to pull his mouth away and to not immediately kiss Liem somewhere else--he lifts his head to tease back, directed once more to Liem's ear. ]

Oh no, [ he murmurs, amused and affectionate. ] Why, do you see civil company anywhere?

[ He has some very pleasant memories of Liem referring to his own company as "shameless." ]

[The soft laugh breathed against Liem's neck does unfair things to his heart, foolish and vulnerable as liquor tends to make it. The portion of his wits that hasn't yet succumbed to his single drink wrestles the unruly organ back into submission.

Very deliberately, he leans back enough to look Matt in the eye, and asks with mild accusation,]

Are you always this pert when you drink?

[ Matt's so surprised by the remark that he can't help a gust of bright laughter. He stares back into Liem's eyes, his own sparkling with mischief. His cheeks a touch more flushed than they looked a few minutes ago. ]

Pert? [ he repeats, delighted. ] You can't tell how pert I am from here.

[ That's like an ass thing, isn't it? Pert buttocks, or something? Matt's almost 100% certain that Liem means something closer to impertinent, but not understanding him is way more fun right now. ]

[At first, Matt’s reply just makes Liem blink, caught off-guard by its unexpected direction—but the implication is easy to glean from his mischievous expression. Behind the thin black barrier of his mask, he raises an eyebrow. He silently adds incorrigible to the list of adjectives Matt has earned this evening.]

I’m inclined to think the answer is yes, [he murmurs, his gaze dipping to brush the glow in his cheeks.]

Unless you simply delight in being saucy with me specifically.

Well, [ Matt says with an undimmed grin, ] I have to admit ... being saucy with you has its perks.

[ He leans slightly forward to brush the very tip of his nose to the very tip of Liem's. The contact only lasts for a moment, but Matt lingers with their faces a little closer than they were before. ]

I'm sorry, [ he adds softly. He doesn't sound sorry at all, though he does sound warm. ] I know I'm ruffling your feathers. But you look so good when you're ruffled.

[Liem's eyes follow Matt keenly, with a glimmer of unexpressed anticipation as he brushes their noses briefly together. His head tips ever so slightly to pursue the fleeting contact, the corner of his mouth lifting as he regards him across the breathtakingly short distance between them.]

I look good all the time, [he informs him in a perfect deadpan.] But I forgive you, because…

[With a deft motion, he shifts his grip on Matt's hand and coaxes it between them to brush his lips gently against his knuckles.]

I still find you charming, even when you're being cheeky.

[ Matt's eyebrows arch for his hairline, his grin blooming suddenly brighter in surprise. This is the other reason it's fun to poke at Liem, to be honest: Just when Matt thinks he knows how he'll react, he does something different. Rallies that dignity and composure in service of the shared joke.

And just as Matt's reflecting on that, Liem gently takes his hand to press a cool kiss to it, like he's a noble knight or landed bachelor out of a story. The gesture is entirely surprising. Entirely irresistible. Matt's breath melts out of him on a soft oh; his heart, once again, starts to beat a little quicker. ]

That's ... very generous, [ he decides, once he can form words again. ] Maybe I can try and make it up to you, though? Buy you another drink?

[ A drink would be great right now. His mouth feels dry. ]

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