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

[Awkward though the scars on his arms may be to acknowledge with other people, Liem willingly accepts that bit of discomfort for the tantalizing pleasure of Matt’s fingers stroking along his skin. He has, over the course of their time on the couch, found himself snuggled up to his companion so he’s sitting flush against him, close enough that he can feel it when he laughs. He slants a sideways glance at him, pleased.]

Hm, you think so?

[There was a time not long ago when Liem might have had some pointed feelings about the implication that all forms of government are bad. It flies in the face of a significant portion of Abadaran scripture, which in many ways resembles a city charter more than a religious text—but none of the governments of his world or this one have ever availed their people anything of merit, so he finds he doesn’t have the ground on which to base an argument. Every mortal government that has ever been invented has been irredeemably flawed, mostly on account of the faults of the living beings necessary to populate it.]

I wouldn’t mind another go. [He moves his arm so he can tangle his fingers gently with Matt’s.] You know, you’re the first person to ask me to dance since I’ve been here. For all the city’s attitudes, the Citadel isn’t exactly a hub of revelry.

[ Matt, as hipster trash, does sort of think so. But primarily, he's saying whatever nonsense comes into his head right now. His words aren't deeply held beliefs so much as one more means of getting closer to Liem, a bright bridge spanning between them.

See also: ]

Right. [ In a tone that manages to be simultaneously pleasant and aggrieved. ] Liem, people should ask you to dance all the time. But I think a lot of us are very ... all about the goal, which you should be. I am too. But it's like, you can't serve from an empty vessel, can you?

[ Speaking of empty vessels, Matt caaaarefully levitates his glass up to his mouth for one last sip. Then he surges to his feet, squeezing Liem's hand in his, and guides them to a nearby open spot of floor. His bearing isn't noticeably different than last time they danced, except that it's more confident. Less space between thought and movement. He also doesn't hesitate to drape his left arm around Liem's neck this time. ]

Well… all the time might be too much.

[Liem murmurs, caught between guilt, pleasure, and fascination as he watches Matt float his drink up to his lips in lieu of using his occupied hand. Even if people did ask him to dance on a regular basis, he'd certainly end up refusing most of the time anyway. As Matt points out, many of the Citadel's inhabitants are quite work-oriented, and Liem unquestionably lies square among their number. Still, there is a wide and fertile stretch of difference between all the time and never.

He picks himself up when Matt does, following him adroitly despite the glasses of fruity amber that have all gone straight to his head. His tightly wound, almost unnatural poise has subsided into something that looks a little more eager and considerably more human. He seems quite comfortable resting his hand on Matt's waist, idly stroking his skin through the fabric of his blouse.]

Do you like dancing, Matt? Other than the kind you do in bars.

[ Matt has had a little too much to drink to consider how much of Liem's relative relaxation might be due to drinks. Therefore, his mind is blissfully empty of self-recrimination. He just cherishes the sway of him, the gentle movement of his fingers over Matt's clothes. ]

Mmm ... I don't really know how, [ he admits, amused. ] I learned exactly one formal dance for cotillion, and it felt like being on a rocking horse.

[ Matt starts in on the best of his cotillion waltz that he can recall--which is, you know, the basic one-two-THREE--in a clomping, high-low cadence. ]

[Liem is briefly puzzled by the rocking horse comparison Matt offers, until he breaks into an unpractised waltz, bringing Liem along for the ride. His expression twitches abruptly into a bright, sharp-toothed grin as he follows along, dutifully matching his rhythm with light, curious steps.

On one hand, the musical accompaniment offered by the club is completely inappropriate for a waltz, so the circumstances are far from ideal; on the other, it's fairly apparent to Liem that he hasn't practised since long before his world ended.]

That doesn't sound like the answer of someone who likes to dance. [His grin subsides into a small, amused smile.] Are you not fond of performance?

[ Matt has no intention of continuing his clumsy dance any longer than necessary to make the point, but he's pleased with how Liem follows him, and thrilled by the glint of light off his teeth. He slows again, sidling back into his original position--chest to Liem's chest, arm draped around his neck--and sighs as he gets his breath back. ]

Ah--not so much, no. [ Matt smiles back, a slightly caught out look on his face. ] I mean, I guess it's better to say I prefer audiences of one? Three or four at the most. [ He hums thoughtfully, dropping his chin to rest on Liem's shoulder. Softer, he adds, ] The best I can do is forget that everyone else is around.

[This answer makes perfect sense to Liem, who started becoming comfortable with being perceived only very shortly before his world died, and has since started backsliding in a hurry. He returns without any disappointment to the gentle sway of their earlier dance, content to subside back into the indifferent crowd of other dancers focused mainly on each other.]

That's not a skill I'm very good at.

[He sighs gently, a wry expression on his face as his eyes skim over Matt's shoulder, to the moving bodies beyond.]

I can barely manage it when I actually am alone, let alone in the midst of a crowd.

[ Matt gives him a gentle squeeze. ]

For me it's a lot easier when I have one other person to focus on. I can make them the whole world ... [ He inhales deeply, letting his chest swell against Liem's, and breathes out slowly. ] And then everything else fades away.

[ He wouldn't normally say this out loud. He can't remember the last time he did say this to someone. But having been so intimate with Liem, and holding him so close now--pitching his voice into the shell of his ear--it feels right to tell him. ]

[As Liem sways along with Matt, chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek, he tries to focus on his warm, solid presence tucked into his half embrace; he tries to focus on the placid rise and fall of his chest and the gentle bump of his heart; he tries to focus on the breath tickling his ear. He very much wants to forget about everything else except the man wrapped around him in this moment. And the liquor is helping him along considerably.

But guilt still nags at him, not even a murmur now; a mosquito’s whine, soft enough to ignore, but too frustrating to let go of. Guilt for being here to begin with, guilt for giving into the temptation to drink, guilt for encouraging Matt, for letting him make someone like Liem into his world even for the span of a single night. It’s more exhausting than he cares to admit, and he tips his cheek against Matt’s, seeking what solace he can find in the flushed warmth of his skin.

He says, quietly,] Then I’m glad to be of service.

Mmhmm, [ Matt murmurs. The sound is heavy and satiated enough that it's nearly a touch on its own, a gentle caress at Liem's ear.

He'd feel awful if he knew about the guilt plaguing him. As things are, Matt likely has enough pieces to figure it out--but he isn't trying. He's not trying to do anything but make Liem feel warm, welcome, desired. To lend him some of his heat and racing pulse.

The music fades, a new song taking its place, and still they sway and step together. Matt's sorely tempted to kiss Liem again, to nuzzle at his ear and the sharp line of his jaw; it's only his superstitious fears about shattering the spell of their intimacy that keeps him from it.

But as the music swells, he can't help turning his head to Liem's ear, lips moving as softly as he can make them: ]

You know ... if you ever wanted to bite me. Drink from me.

I'd like it.

[The breath at Liem’s ear is both a comfort and a temptation, caressing his skin and pooling molten and warm in his belly. His hand at Matt’s waist slides further around him, making his touch into an embrace. It would be astonishingly easy to tip his head just slightly and press his lips beneath the hinge of Matt’s jaw, or to nuzzle between his collar and the thick band of ribbon circling his throat to find the join of his neck and shoulder.

He almost does; he’s sure Matt wouldn’t object. He’s sure no one in this entire club would mind at all, and he’s already shattered the illusion that he specifically is above such things. He might as well indulge the desire now, before his wits find him again and he goes back to playing the part of restrained Abadaran priest who wouldn’t be caught alive or dead in a place like this.

But the soft words at his ear send a shiver running beneath his skin, and he pauses, breathing a nervous laugh against Matt’s neck.]

You shouldn’t tell me that.

[His throat feels very dry. He suddenly regrets that he doesn’t have a drink in his hand.]

I might forget myself, and say yes.

Oh ...

[ Another soft breath, gentle as a soap bubble. Matt rolls the answer over in his mind a moment; then his lips curve into a small smile. ]

What would be so bad about that?

If I liked it, and you liked it ... that's just good, isn't it?

[This is a terribly unfair conversation for them to be having while Matt’s neck is within such easy reach of Liem’s mouth. It makes it very difficult to think of anything else, which really just makes him think: Was it ever really strength of will that allowed him to abstain from human blood for the last handful of years, or did he just keep himself so busy that he wouldn’t be tempted to indulge?

Gently, he brushes his nose along the shell of Matt’s ear.]

I never said it wouldn’t be enjoyable.

[That’s not the same thing as good—certainly not the same thing as right. If he wanted to, he could easily find Achamoth citizens who would be beside themselves at the opportunity to let him drink their blood. That doesn’t mean that he should.]

But it’s been a long time since I drank from anyone. If I let myself do it again, I don’t know if I would be able to stop.

[ They've established that vampires on Liem's world and vampires on Matt's weren't exactly the same. Still, coming from his own context, Matt's immediate reaction to the reveal is concern. Saying it's been a long time since he's drunk someone's blood ... it sounds like starvation. Matt doesn't wonder that he's worried about losing control.

None of this stops him from enjoying Liem's touch, however. He shivers pleasantly at the brush of his nose.

Besides. He thinks he might have a solution. ]

I could stop you, [ he murmurs. ] I have a power that lets me ... stop people from doing things I don't want them to, without hurting them.

Edited 2022-08-30 19:34 (UTC)

[For a while Liem doesn't say anything, matching Matt's movements in silence as they step slowly to and fro. What he thinks, but doesn't say, is that he's afraid of what might happen if he let himself drink here, in this city where no one would think twice about him indulging his appetites. He's afraid of how easy it would be, if he reminded himself what it was like, to convince himself to drink whenever he wanted. Who would object? What consequences would there possibly be, especially for someone like him?

He has cause to doubt himself. Because after all, although he should refuse Matt's offer… he already knows that he isn't going to.

Quietly, he says,] You swear you would use it, if you needed to?

[ Matt's right hand pulls reluctantly away from Liem's. But his fingers don't travel far: only to the ribbon around his throat. Even tipsy, he's more than deft enough to undo the ribbon and catch it in his hand. It dangles from his fingers, leaving his neck bare--smooth and unblemished on one side, marred on the other by an irregular chunk of crystal. ]

I promise you.

[ Barely above a whisper. Matt notices that his heart has started to beat faster; he takes a steady breath, then another, in the hopes of slowing it. ]

[Liem's eyes flick wider when Matt reaches up to undo the ribbon circling his throat. He draws back to watch the movement of his fingers with careful attention, his abandoned left hand curling slightly, bereft. The climbing pace of his heartbeat seems suddenly very conspicuous, despite the slow breaths he takes to calm it.

Slowly, deliberately, he dips his head back down toward Matt's neck—not his right side, but his left. He brushes his lips over the glossy surface of his shard, feather-light, as his fingers gently reclaim Matt's again, tangling carefully with the hanging ribbon. And he lifts his head back up, pitching his voice instead toward his ear.]

Don't you think, [he says,] you're being a bit hasty? Given our present circumstances.

[ Matt sighs as Liem's mouth begins to draw near his neck. It's not in the spot he would have expected, but the gesture is intimately familiar to him; he's filled with a sense of déjà vu, heady and thick. Instead of fangs, though, he feels lips: a light, light touch against one crystalline facet of his shard. He can't make sense of the fact that he's able to feel Liem's mouth touch down, but the feeling is enough. His whole body goes still.

Then he laughs, startled and embarrassed in equal measure. Of course he's being hasty. Of course Liem didn't mean now. ]

Nobody would care, [ he protests, smiling. ] But, uhhh ...

In that case, do you wanna get out of here?

[The way Matt goes still at the touch of his mouth is fascinating. He has a knack for responding to certain kinds of intimacy in ways Liem can’t predict, and if they were anywhere other than right in the middle of a crowd of dancing people, he would be irresistibly tempted by the mystery he presents. As it is, he’s about one drink away from suggesting, yeah: a quiet corner would be fine. Which is only one reason why they really should get out of here.]

People here might object to some of the things I’d like to do with you.

[He leans in slightly, and his lips just brush Matt’s ear.]

When I said I prefer not to have sex in semi-public places, I didn’t mean public was better.

[ Matt chuckles ticklishly, his head tilting at the touch of lips on his ear. Liem's words--things I'd like to do with you--warm him to his toes. Matt is undeniably the aggressor here, but he doesn't feel like it. He feels swept off his feet, borne away on the tide of Liem's nearness, his touches and soft kisses and tender words. ]

We could go home. [ Low, almost throaty. His hand tightens in Liem's. ] Grab our stuff and go.

And maybe on the way back, you could tell me about some of what you wanna do.

Mmhmm.

[That little chuckle makes a smile twitch across Liem's lips. He trails his mouth down to the corner of his jaw to press a brief kiss there before finally pulling back again, meeting Matt's gaze with naked interest.]

I would love to go home with you.

[His hand slides up Matt's back as he considers, already very much sold on the idea of going back to the Citadel for sex, but reluctant to stop touching him in order to do so. Truly life is full of hard choices. His expression is coy when he adds,]

How much detail do you want?

[ It's quite difficult to think of not touching Liem right now, even in service of touching him more thoroughly later. But Matt is experienced enough with delayed gratification that he manages to wrench himself away--though his fingers remain tangled with Liem's. He uses his grip to coax them back towards their couch, where Matt starts levitating Liem's belongings into easier reach. The effort costs him a little in breath and energy, but Matt is flush with desire right now; he has plenty to spare. ]

Oh, [ he laughs, as they stumble for the door, ] I'm a big believer in clear communication. I'd like a really thorough understanding of what you're proposing.

[ Luckily, this venue wasn't too far from the Citadel to begin with. Matt's into delayed gratification and all, but he's not sure how long a walk he could manage right now. ]

[Attuned as Liem is to Matt as they weave their way free of the dance floor, he’s only more intrigued now by the way his casting interacts with his breath and body, even familiar as it’s become over the course of the evening. His attention is divided between his levitating belongings and the mage next to him, whom he keeps sliding his eyes back to as irresistibly as a cat looks at a fluttering bird. Liem snags his mask and slides it with painstaking, one-handed care into the pocket of his coat, then, so that he doesn’t have to relinquish his grip on Matt’s hand, he simply slings the garment over one shoulder. For the moment, he’s opting for efficiency over maintaining appearances.]

How foresighted of you. Very visionary.

[He follows Matt out the door and into the warm Achamoth night, sticking to his side like glue as they weave their way through colourfully-lit side streets on their way back to the Citadel.]

You know, I’d really like a better look at that tattoo of yours. The one on your chest.

[As distinguished from the one on his hip, which he’s already been happily acquainted with.]

And in the interest of being thorough, I should really map my options before I bite you. Don’t you think?

[ Matt giggles at the double meaning, but hushes himself quickly as Liem keeps talking. His gaze flickers down to his chest and back up to Liem's face; his cheeks feel warm.

He sighs a laugh. ]

I think that sounds really smart of you, [ he agrees. Matt can't exactly squirm while upright and in motion, but his thighs press together briefly as he walks. ] I hope the terrain agrees with you. But champions always give it their all no matter what, don't they?

[There’s a quiet, transgressive thrill that shudders close to Liem’s bones at the prospect of going home with Matt explicitly to open his veins and drink from him, to indulge inexcusably in this dangerous, seductive vice he can’t escape from. Something like this shouldn’t be so exciting to him—and yet, it is, and that weightless, buzzing excitement is enough for him to pretend not to notice the guilt. He takes refuge in the warmth of Matt’s hand instead, and in the soft sound of his laugh.]

I would be remiss to give you any less than every bit of my attention, [says the consummate champion.] It’s the least I could do, since you’ve been such an accommodating companion.

[Then he slides Matt a small smile, playfully coy.]

But between you and me, it would mostly just be my pleasure to do so.

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