Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

"I figured that moan of yours earlier had made such epithets inapplicable. But words!" Edmund glanced to Oliver, folding his coats and neatly setting it aside. "One can never scrutinize them enough. From euphemisms to political equivocation, your world is a linguistic minefield. And humble folk like myself need always to take care when playing in it."

Edmund unwound the ascot from his neck and set its accompanying pin with his other things. "You know," he began, turning his back to Oliver and taking seat on the bed's edge to remove his shoes. "You should decide whether I've autonomy or am to be at your beck and call. Revoking my choice like that," he clicked his tongue in mock distaste, "How fickle." With a thump, his shoes were carelessly discarded.
 
"I forget I'm a monarch at times, especially the fact that I am king." He replied simply, continuing to watch Edmund as he slowly discarded of extraneous clothing that merely got in the way. Oliver briefly wondered if he should do the same. Wearing shoes upon a bed was.. very unclean. He scooted toward the edge of the bed and started unlacing his boots, fingers nimble and quick with practiced ease.

"I was joking. You're still free to make your own choices and say your own words," Oliver said as he began lacing his vest after his boots were completely discarded somewhere off to the side of the bed. "You are still free to leave me if you think it's best, but I'd imagine it'd be too much trouble for you to start dressing yourself again."
 
"Don't doubt me to walk this ship in dishabille." Edmund warned in good nature. "My coworkers can think no less of me, and I'm certain these sea-hardened sailors have seen more ghastly things than me unkempt, hard as that may be to believe."

In finishing, Edmund turned to see Oliver disrobing to a more comfortable state of dress. He moved to sit behind him, pulling Oliver against his chest. The bed dipped and sank to accommodate their weight, pliable unlike the planks Edmund had known most of his life. He almost felt a pang of compunction for not having admired it. Though there was something, someone, more deserving of his appreciative attentions. Edmund kissed the base of Oliver's neck, mumbling against it. "You know, I could have done that for you." He emphasized his comment on Oliver's undressing by running a hand along the vest about to be discarded.
 
"Another time, then, you should prance around the ship in a state of undress." Oliver mused, a gentle smile on his features as his fingers pulled the strings of his vest loose and free, and he was able to pull off the vest.

The feel of Edmund behind him was welcoming and the warmth it brought was wonderful. The chill of the ocean spray and the wind seeped into the cabin the two were staying in, making warmth a stronger feeling and more sought out. Oliver's eyes slipped closed at the feel of kisses at the back of his neck.

"I got impatient. The least you can do now is pull the vest off me," Oliver's hands fell from where they were at the laces, allowing Edmund to pull the vest off completely. "If you want to unbutton my shirt even more to satiate your desire to undress me, feel free."
 
"Impatience is a terrible trait." Edmund chuckled, pulling the garment from Oliver slowly before leaning back in to whisper. "Luckily I like it." He held the vest off to the side, tilting it to admire the fabric's natural sheen.

"This is perfectly tailored to you." He commented absently. "Every cut and dart made to fit you like a second skin, the epitome of haute-couture." Edmund dropped it like trash to crumple on the floor. "I think I'd like you better in my clothes. Room for you to breathe, and for my hands." Slow but certain, Edmund wrapped his arms around Oliver, one 'round the waist for hold, and the other snaking higher where Edmund could slide his fingers between the next button and what it held together. The callous tips of his fingers just barely touched Oliver's skin beneath. Edmund toyed with the button, teased it, daring to snap another free.
 
"You should be beyond knowing of my impatience," Oliver watched as Edmund slipped off the garment easily from his shoulders and away from his body.

"Hm? Is that a plan for later on? To have you dress me up just like you?" Oliver mused, tilting his head to the side. "I wonder how I'd look wearing your clothing." Oliver's eyes drifted down, watching his teasing fingers meticulously and teasingly pull free the buttons of his shirt.

"You purposefully push my impatience for your own agenda, don't you?"
 
"Never." Edmund exaggerated in playful lie. It was a pleasure of his he didn't often confess to, but, with Oliver, it was nothing Edmund felt needed to be kept clandestine. He twisted another button free and pulled the collar of Oliver's shirt aside, revealing the slop of his shoulder. Edmund delicately kissed it before speaking. "I like you impatient, a little flustered. Eager." For a moment, Edmund pulled Oliver tightly against him, felt the rise and fall of his chest, before again relaxing his hold.

"As for clothes, I doubt even my dowdy rags could diminish your-" effulgence, vivacity, pulchritude, magnetism- "self." Edmund finished inadequately. What Oliver was was ineffable. No words could justly delineate his character and what made him so attractive to Edmund. He rested his head in the crook of Oliver's shoulder and neck, and breathed. He couldn't remember taking comfort in the warmth of another's scent as he did now.
 
Of course Edmund found a liking into Oliver's impatient nature. The two of them were rather opposite. Oliver was a king, a royal used to be bathed in riches and spoiled extremely rotten at any and every moment, whilst Edmund was only there to wait patiently to his employers beck and call, always waiting for the next order or command. It made sense that he enjoyed Oliver's impatience.

"I wouldn't call your attire dowdy by any extent, but I will still take the compliment." Oliver placed his hand over the one resting around his middle, thumb stroking over the back of his hand. "Any reason why you had a pause at a chance to describe me?"
 
"Well, no. I'm not dowdy as an old maid, but I can't say faded brown and black really exudes an aura of class and sophistication either. Unless that class is lower class." Edmund smiled at his own jibe, tucking his chin so as to rest his forehead against Oliver's shoulder. He really needed to renovate his wardrobe. Appearing shabby as a lesser servant of Oliver's estate wasn't an overt faux pas, but as his personal servant it was criminally remiss, no matter how stunning it made Oliver look by comparison.

Edmund sighed. "I'm no poet, Oliver. My words to describe you are ineffectual at best. And a pause really sells that." He chuckled weakly before confessing. "But, if I am to speak with candor, it's because I cannot objectively see you. Something internal colors my perception." Something which he couldn't quite name. Edmund pulled away. "This contact isn't helping. Here." He gestured for Oliver to turn towards him as Edmund retrieved the snuff box from the bedside table. "I want to give you something." He began to open it.
 
"Just because your clothing lacks high class, doesn't mean I will automatically look terrible," Oliver mused. He thought it'd be rather interesting, if anything. He wondered how their bodies differed, if Edmund's clothing would fit surprisingly well or would be loose and baggy upon his own frame. Would his clothing still have the lingering scent of Edmund, too?

Oliver rose an eyebrow in curiosity, briefly getting off the bed to turn around and settle himself in front of Edmund, deciding that going bold and sitting in his lap would be a little weird when he planned to give him something. "Gifts, already? Aren't you a sap," Oliver commented playfully, looking up at Edmund with a small smirk settled on his features.
 
"Who said I was giving you a gift?" Edmund scoffed, sifting through his loose tobacco for the few buds of clove that remained intact. Those found, he tossed into his mouth to crack between in teeth. Bitter at first, they mellowed to a smooth sweetness that reminded him of winter holidays and their confections, a flavor paired with cinnamon, molasses, and nutmeg. It was slightly numbing where it touched his tongue, but Edmund couldn't care.

"I was going to give a kiss, fix what I fouled last." he explained. "We weren't exactly arranged well for it, and I didn't have a good segue into it, and I wanted to cover some of the lingering wine taste in my mouth..." he looked to Oliver, his excuses listed and lost for words. Edmund smiled to himself reprovingly before confessing. "I'm not much of a Casanova, and am, in fact, rather terrible at all this."

"However." Edmund looked into his snuff box and found an idea. "So as not to let you down, you could have my charm. I had a medicine woman craft it for me. We poor folk and our superstitions, you know." he embellished, removing the trinket from among the papers and leaves. It was a small vial, sealed with wax and fashioned to be a pendant. Inside, in a yellowed solution, was a mouse heart with rosemary needles and slivers of wormwood. "It's to augment one's guile, auspicious for sneaking around and keeping a low profile." he explained before adding in jest. "Maybe it could help keep the ladies off you."
 
"You said you were giving me something. Pardon my royal upbringing from assuming a gift," Oliver retorted. A kiss, hm? Well, Oliver shouldn't have been slightly startled by the mention of it. It was the entire reason just a few dozen minutes before of a complete misunderstanding and he was the one wanting to redo it entirely in the first place. Though, hearing it being said so bluntly from Edmund... it was perhaps the entire reason he was startled in the first place.

"Not a Casanova, but considerate enough to conceal the taste of wine. You're more cautious to the details than any woman whose ever tried to charm me," Oliver replied. The confession was sweet to mention. Made the facade of perfection that Edmund had to uphold as his job required crack just a bit more. Though, he already knew Edmund was bound to have his faults. The failed kiss from earlier is an example.

Oliver looked down at the tiny vial, the contents within it rather... peculiar to him, grossing him out enough to be a little unsettled but not entirely disgusted. With ginger fingers, he slipped it from Edmund's grasp to get a better look at it. "I..." He began, not really sure where to end. He looked at the vial, at the little mouse heart and needles and wormwood, before placing it back into Edmund's hand.

"I shouldn't. It has more use with you," He finally concluded, looking up at him.
 
"You wound me." Edmund feigned offense, laughing. He rolled the charm between his fingers with fondness before putting it back in the snuff box. It closed with a snap and was returned to the table. Such things were an ill fit with Oliver's taste, something Edmund could have guessed. Where he was coarser, baser, Oliver was more delicate and refined. Viscera and offal rarely blended with creme or cologne. He smiled. Oliver could be cute sometimes.

"Rejecting a gift," Edmund chided, teasing. "How cold of you." Part of him wanted to continue their banter, neglecting the kiss he'd mentioned and brought awkwardly to the forefront. He'd put both of them on the spot. How gauche of him, tactless. But the way his heart beat in thought of it, anxious but wanting, Edmund wasn't sorry for eschewing grace.

With a gentle hand, he reached out to brush Oliver's neck where moments earlier Edmund had senselessly bitten. "I'm a bit rough with you, aren't I?" he asked absently.
 
Oliver rolled his eyes at the jest of his statement, tilting his head to the side and leaning back, his hands supporting him from behind, resting upon the bed. He briefly recalled the wine he had spilt, way way earlier today, and felt a bit guilty for it. The buzz of the wine was slowly cackling and fading away, making him more perceptive and aware.

His heightened perception didn't come short at the light, feathering touches of Edmund. At the feel of his fingers brushing along his neck, along the marks left from earlier, he involuntarily shuddered. A sensitive spot on his neck he was now aware of.

"It was the heat of the moment. You're gentle, too. Just like now," He replied, his voice just slightly above that of a whisper. "Your hand isn't wrapping around and choking me, is it?" He added with a small laugh, a joking statement. God, was this nice. It was comfortable, it was natural, and it felt oh so real. After his father's death, everyone changed. Became more formal, more distant with emotions. Everything was serious all the time. But with Edmund... every other statement was some sort of joke, a playful statement, a light scolding littered with jest. It was wonderful.
 
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"It could if you wanted it to be." Edmund offered playfully, trying not to think long on the image. Within context, and consensual, he wasn't opposed to such, but now wasn't the moment for libertine discussion. It would only dilute the perception of his true intention. Though, what that was, Edmund still couldn't justly say. He changed topic.

Leaning toward Oliver, one hand on the bed, supporting his weight, the other moved to almost casually stroke Oliver's thigh. Edmund asked flippantly, "How long do you think we have before a considerate servant tries to offer you brunch or some bosh?" They could always lock the door, have Edmund insist to any inquiring that Oliver was dreadfully ill. Fatigued, maybe? It was mostly true. Or perhaps retire early, douse the lights, and share sightless company in the gloom. Whatever be, Edmund was certain any hunger he felt wasn't for viands.
 
"I'm not into that sort of thing," Oliver replied dismissively. He'd certainly at least try it at one point, something of that sort, where pain and pleasure became almost synonyms in the right situation. But he was sure that for right now, and with Edmund, that the farthest he'd go with that would be like the bites he had received earlier. Anything more than that was an entire realm of its own.

"If I'm going to be honest, I'm surprised one hasn't already made their rounds to check up on me," Oliver admitted, absentmindedly gazing toward the door. Then again, his staff and servants were now accustomed to Oliver having most of his needs met by the capabilities of Edmund. Perhaps that is what they were believed was occuring now. "Maybe they think I'm in your capable hands and think I don't need any brunch or bosh,"
 
It was a poor topic, and one Edmund regretted upon hearing Oliver discuss it. Whether or not he shirked it, and whether or not Oliver insisted otherwise, Edmund had a responsibility to care for him. If Oliver took ill, looked wan, or was in some way unprepared for arrival, it was Edmund's fault. Reminder of such was not only vexing, but stirred a pang of compunction, the gravity of which dampened Edmund's mood. With a sigh he moved to lay beside Oliver, staring up at the ceiling.

"A pity." He commented in short. "I wouldn't mind you wringing my neck before one of your relatives or advisers likely does." He laughed in a sigh, breathy. "I'm sure you'd be kinder about it." Again, he'd lost the mood between them. The wine had worn off. He wanted a drink, and thought perhaps he could get Oliver coffee. That was likely a healthier means of putting color in him than anything Edmund did in the privacy of their cabin. Emotionally he felt ambivalent, a mess. They hadn't redress that kiss either, and so Edmund didn't mention anything, but instead rubbed his eyes. Even in kindness, it seemed, life could be cruel.
 
"I've nothing to wring your neck over. You've been doing your job much better than anyone else has," Oliver replied, looking down at Edmund. One of his hands softly brushed away some dirt and dust off of his shirt, though he did it more as an idle activity rather than to clean Edmund up. His clothing wasn't terribly dirty, only mussed with slight activity.

It was at this point that Oliver wondered about that kiss again. The first go around pretty much naturally occurred, and he knew it'd be much better if it was the same way the second go around. But it seemed like both of them were too hesitent to try and make a step into it, merely speaking of trivial matters as a way to gently avoid it altogether. Oliver bit his lip and lightly tugged on a loose thread on Edmund's shirt, not quite sure what to do.
 
"You flatter me." Edmund smiled lazily, knowing well that he was far from the paragon of royal servant. He stole, tarried in disused rooms, and humored Oliver's quixotic fancies that anyone responsible would have dismissed entirely. No, Edmund wasn't better. "Oswald was better." he commented distantly in memory. "He was head of staff when you were maybe eleven or twelve. He had a real beak of a nose and no chin discernible from his neck, an old, draconian bastard. He was on my ass day and night, but he got things done. Everything ran so smoothly before he died." Edmund recalled almost wistfully. "The staff drank to his passing."

He sighed with finality and took up Oliver's fidgeting hand. "You'll unravel me if you keep that up." he teased. "You're like a little southern monkey, all pick-picking." He couldn't help but notice the difference between their fingers. Where Oliver's tapered delicately, Edmund's were blunted from rough use. He ran his thumb over them fondly.
 
Oliver's eyes narrowed slightly, not too displeased with the mention of Oswald. It was true that Oswald was one of the best staff members his family had at the castle, it didn't make the mention of him settle comfortably. Perhaps it was the mere fact that it was another person in his life that had passed, seemingly too soon. Oliver's hand within Edmund's grip now squeezed down on his fingers, in an attempt to ground himself back into the moment.

"You shouldn't compare yourself to others," Oliver simply replied, looking down at Edmund's hands, clearly worn with use and activity that would probably break Oliver's own fingers. "You're still better at your job than anyone else currently," He added, his hand relaxing.

"I couldn't help the picking. You have all these loose threads and dirt and what have you all over your shirt," His eyes trailed their way up to Edmund's face, a small smile now gracing his features.
 
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