Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Edmund smiled tightly at the apology and made a dismissive gesture. He didn't mind. Though, he was tempted to tend to what would doubtlessly be a stain in Oliver's clothes if not rinsed immediately. It made him resemble a sloven drunkard, a man of bibulous nature forswearing appearances in favor of drink. Edmund smiled at the thought. He let it slide. Under other condition, he may have exhorted otherwise. But Oliver was out of public sight, and so appearances were best left out of mind.

About to take seat beside him, Edmund reconsidered last moment and went to the head of the bed. To sit hunched at the foot felt patronizing, like he were about to reprove someone whose feelings he didn't want to break. So instead, he propped a pillow against the richly engraved headboard, and sat with his legs extended, if not a little apart. Relaxed, something Oliver didn't quite have the pleasure of due to sea sickness.

"Well," Edmund began, searching the map of his personal history. In a matter of seconds he concluded his life was a terrible bore. It was only in how he told it that was interesting. Edmund sighed curtly. He was shit at story time. "Do you know how I came under your employ?" he asked. "I was fourteen, faineant, and a bit of a pick pocket back then."
 
Oliver took another drink from the bottle. He briefly considered sharing it with Edmund, and not being such a damn greedy bastard, but he honestly didn't want to share anything that would get his damn mind off whatever bullshit was going on inside him. Human kindness be damned; Edmund could watch Oliver drink the wine all damn day and Oliver wasn't going to share one bit of it. Not until he was no longer feeling anything but sleep later on.

"Hmm?" Oliver hummed, messily wiping away any wine on his lips with the back of his hand. He looked at Edmund, eyes half lidded but interested. "Sounds like you, being a pick pocket." He finally replied.

"You still know any pick pocketing tricks you care to demonstrate?" Oliver continued, raising an eyebrow playfully.
 
"Maybe." Edmund stated, equivocal, but a devious grin betrayed otherwise. He wasn't adept, too blunt fingered to have a ghost hand. But he knew how to exploit a situation, and perhaps he was doing that now. To what end, he wasn't certain. There was little more he could coax from Oliver. Private quarters and a promotion were the culminant reward, Edmund could hope for no better. So this, between them now, was something disparate, playful and purely without affectations.

Edmund motioned Oliver closer. "It's easiest when they're near." he explained. "With their back to me. A little inebriated, a little distracted." Much like he was with Oliver's lips, how wine wicked from them as easily as water from a duck's wing, while on Edmund it leeched into the chapped cracks, staining. He grinned before lying in jest, tacitly daring Oliver to call him out on it. "I could take a man's cravat without him noticing."
 
Oliver let out a small chuckle, low and deep, quiet in sound. Perhaps it was the slow settling buzz of the wine now settling into Oliver's system or just the entire playful feeling that was shared between them both, but Oliver had no protesting thought in his mind as he inched closer to Edmund. He left enough space between them that was just barely considered professional and formal.

"I asked for a demonstration, Edmund," Oliver chided softly. His breath, undoubtedly smelt like wine. "Go on and steal from a king," He added with a wicked smirk, taking a long sip of the wine before setting it aside on the bedside table to their left.
 
It was a tempting invitation. No, more than tempting. It beckoned a plunge into a visceral, voracious void, to glut every desire without end. It teased his restraint, and risk. Could he stop at once or would he take and take? Like an alcoholic, one was too many and a thousand not enough. Edmund needed to assuage the tension Oliver's words had drawn. Reign in desire to something more platonic, but not quite.

"I'm inclined to steal a drink from you." Edmund said, quickly snatching the relinquished libation. Before Oliver could cavil or otherwise, Edmund gently tugged at his shoulder, motioning for Oliver to recline against him. "Sit with me, relax." he insisted. "I steal from you enough already. Any more and I might steal your decency." he jest, looking fixedly at Oliver's throat and then commenting absently. "They've always got you done-up so conservatively." He took a long pull of wine from the bottle, wishing it were gin. He needed it.
 
Oliver was disappointed that Edmund didn't demonstrate the skills he kept from years long past of pick pocketing. It would've been fun to watch, entertaining like a fortune teller spill out secrets from your past that not even you would be able to recall until it was finally mentioned. Though, sharing a wine with Edmund was better than nothing, but did not quell is disappointment. His mouth formed a small pout.

"I let you act with your own autonomy and all you do is steal my wine and tartlets," Oliver whined softly, slipping the bottle from his grasp. The drink swished around in the dark glass of the bottle, and instead of taking another drink, he merely entertained himself with watching the drink swirl around.

"Dressed up so conservatively... you'd rather I prance around shirtless and in my under garments?" Oliver retorted, a laugh following his words.
 
"No." Edmund bantered, feigning civilized offense. "That would be obscene. I only make mention out of concern for your health. All tucked and tailored without an inch to breathe." He sighed, and slow, as though courting a creature known to wilds, Edmund loosened Oliver's collar. His eyes shifted between his fingers and Oliver's face, a pendulum ticking syrup-slow. It was tempting to do more, to entertain Oliver's jest of near-nudity, but... such wasn't what Edmund truly wanted.

Yes, exposure was desirable. But Edmund wasn't after the ribald caricatures passed around bars, nudes looking back at the viewer, coy in their prurience. No, he wanted the painter's scene, the unclothed figure looking off wistfully, as though one had entered upon them with morning coffee and had yet to be addressed. The comfort between two individuals to bare themselves without display or salacious intent, without pretense of affectation. Just trust and ease. Intimacy...

Edmund swallowed hard in understanding. His realization was heavy, a visceral knowing that, though he played, it was for keeps. And it was more than fun. It was terrifying. Suddenly he felt desperate for alcohol, but knowing he gathered it for Oliver who was once again in possession of it, Edmund refrained.

"I've stolen more than viands." Edmund corrected, his smile more neutral, less teasing. "And I'll steal more yet, but only when I'm certain you won't mind parting with it. After all, some things taken cannot be returned as they were, if at all."
 
"When you only choke all the time, you learn to breathe." Oliver hummed in reply, eyes still ghosting along the glass and in the swirling contents of it. The feel of Edmund's fingers lightly brushing against the skin of his neck to loosen his collar felt nice, warm against him. He was tempted to grasp his wrist and keep his hand close, to keep it in contact with his skin that felt too cold without it. He managed to not act upon the silly want.

Oliver realized he was probably hogging the wine again. When Edmund took a drink earlier, it was pretty obvious he wanted some of it as well. He pushed the bottle towards his general direction, an invitation to take the bottle. He wasn't really thirsting for it that much right now anyways. His stomach was no longer a primary concern.

"A servant whose just a thief at heart... why isn't that a rumour being spread about the staff members of the castle? Is it because they think the only thievery you've done is steal my heart?" Oliver mused, a lazy smile spreading across his face.
 
With a sigh as though to say you shouldn't, Edmund accepted the wine proffered, taking a drink in thanks. It was dry and mellow-tart. He couldn't taste the individual notes and made no show of trying. That it was alcohol was pleasing enough to his senses. Chances were it would stain his lips, and once the encounter passed, he'd be walking around the ship and everyone would notice. Salient and telling as a lipstick stain, evidence of his immodest privilege with their king.

Edmund laughed sharply. "Hardly. If I may bore you with servant politics for a moment, the staff functions on a plexus of petty blackmail. Knowing each other's secrets creates a gridlock. We can't rat for risk of being ratted on. Marta has borrowed your mother's jewelry that was left to memory and vertigris. Peter has hunted on your private land. Samuel has broken heirloom china that to everyone else's knowledge was 'lost forever'." Edmund smirked, cruel and devilish. "So, things known for fact aren't spread, but hoarded for if they ever need to recriminate. It's the things unknown that they gossip over. It tends to force the truth out so as to avoid detection by superiors and bring them into the web of blackmail which," he scoffed, "Which oddly enough feels a bit like a close knit community."

Edmund took another drink. "Back to what you said, however. I doubt anyone thinks you're romantically taken with me. I'm not exactly the lovable sort. Even dogs don't like me, and they like everyone." He drank again. "So, at best, they think I'm the nation's greatest, most available bed-warmer. Peter always insisted to everyone I was gay, despite knowledge otherwise." Edmund clicked his tongue, vexed by the memory.
 
"Any reason why you've confided this information to me? It is interesting nevertheless," Oliver replied simply, watching as the remainder of the wine sunk into the crevices of Edmund's lips, altering the once light color of them. Oliver didn't really try to hide his obvious staring, the gentle buzz of the wine letting him forget some basic level manners.

Gay, huh? Oliver almost forgotten about anything relating to be homosexual. When you're a royal, it's shoved so forcefully down your throat to be everything heterosexual, to the point where Oliver briefly forgot what the term gay meant in the first place. He never dwelled on those matters anyways; he knew he was bound to marry a woman regardless of what he really wanted. And if he didn't like her, it wasn't too scadalous to have a mistress or what ever else.

"Not the lovable sort? If you're not, I wouldn't have been so keen on giving you a new title and room included. I have some sort of keen liking towards you. Wounds me that you think otherwise," Oliver placed a gentle hand over his heart to feign hurt over Edmund's words, completed with a wounded look of defeat.
 
"Consider it a show of trust." Edmund suggested, eyes narrowing in thought of future machinations. "Or, my insurance. If they intend to take me down then they're following in my wake." Revenge wasn't below him. Though his declaration was one he couldn't support, not alone at least, and only if anyone he informed cared to oust those members of the staff.

"Pardon if my honesty devalues your taste." Edmund feigned apology, a crooked smile like a sneer revealing one of his canine's. He looked aside as he took another drink. Slowly he was emptying the bottle. He was apt to genuinely apologize for that when-

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, trying to follow Oliver's sight with his hand. When contacting the coarseness of his lips, Edmund knew. "I already look like I took on a pugilist and lost, don't I? Have that liver-spot color that's flagrantly out of season." He should have found a bottle of white wine, or a rosé. If only he'd had the prescience to know Oliver would have shared it.
 
"You trust me enough to tell me the secrets of my staff, but so honest you don't see the liking I have towards you. Absolutely unbelievable," Oliver followed that statement with a long sigh, shaking his head with a smile. He noticed the contents of the wine slowly dwindling away. He wasn't the slightest bit displeased by it. He had more than enough to satiate his stomach, and Edmund deserve to have some of it as well.

Oliver couldn't disagree more with Edmund's statement about the current look of his lips. The staining of the wine bled out and faded out a bit, almost looking like blended out lipstick upon his lips. It looked rather nice, really. Oliver forced himself to tear his eyes away and to look back at his eyes, something appropriate to stare at. "You could say that," He simply replied, a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "It doesn't look that bad, really. It reminds me of a woman's lipstick," Perhaps a bit weird to say, but Oliver had a weak filter that was barely stopping him from saying things he shouldn't. Speaking his mind was just how he was on wine, it seemed.
 
Though said lightheartedly, there was more truth in Oliver's comment than Edmund would acknowledge. He knew Oliver fancied him, that he was granted private quarters and a promotion substantiated that. It was the degree and reason that Edmund found inscrutable. He was too ensnared by logic, still expecting the quid pro quo. A feeling of debt clouded his perception of Oliver's intention on top of Edmund's already ingrained, defensive believe that he was unlovable. But in spite of all Edmund's flawed psychology, Oliver's efforts were seeping in. Like a gentle rain, it was permeating slowly to understanding.

"Well then!" Edmund exclaimed, "Don't mind if I sit here and chew the dead skin from my lips 'til their raw." To be unintentionally tarted-up was nothing Edmund wanted. He'd rather people thought he'd been necking with a vicious rat. For that moment, he swore off wine. Liquor only, forever onward! They hadn't enough wine for him to get drunk on anyways. In lieu of social graces, Edmund picked at his bottom lip, the drier flecks coming off with ease. The others however, felt akin to pulling a hangnail and... yep. He got himself bleeding.

"Shit." he cursed under his breathe.
 
Oliver raised an eyebrow at the peculiar deicision to just start gnawing away at his lips. I guess it wasn't a good thing to have your lips look nice, like that of a woman with lipstick on? Whatever the reason, Oliver merely watched, perplexed. He barely batted an eyelash when Edmund ended up tugging too hard at his lips and he started to bleed, the color of the wine pale in comparison to the dark bead of blood now pooling at the center of his lips.

For a strange reason, Oliver's first thought was to simply kiss the blood away. But as cute or as nice as that sounded, it'd just end up with both with blood on their lips, which ended up being a rather gross idea. Oliver's mouth straighted out to a thin line, and his hand reached up to his lips, his thumb gentle as it wiped away the blood. It smeared it, yes, but he had no better ideas. The kiss was already thrown out the window.

"Is having nice lips that undesirable for you?" Oliver chided, looking up at him with playfully scolding eyes. "Look at where it's landed you."
 
Oliver's touch was arresting, unexpected. Edmund hadn't the mind or time to react to it. But he'd wanted to. Even as Oliver pulled away, Edmund's thoughts raced. He'd wanted to pull Oliver's thumb in, tease it between his teeth, taste the balm of his skin, the salt of his sweat. Would Oliver have pulled away, felt the knuckle of his thumb catch Edmund's teeth before slipping free, marked with blood and spit.

Edmund compulsively licked where his lip had been touched, hoping for a residual taste, proof of what had happened. But there was none. Only the sting of his wounded lip. His breathing felt slow, predatory. He tried to regulate it.

"I can't say I'm displeased with the situation." Edmund confessed, chuckling darkly. "I'd open a vein if I thought you'd kiss it better." Though said in jest, he was half serious and half inebriated to do it. Despite previously swearing from wine, Edmund took another drink. He welcomed the consequence.
 
"Oh?" Oliver responded, eyebrows raised in little surprise. Oliver didn't miss the way Edmund's eyes lingered on his thumb as he drew it away from his lips, a small dot of dried, red blood smeared on the center of his thumb. He wondered how things would have transpired should Oliver had taken the plunge and kissed Edmund instead. Perhaps he'd be tasting the metallic tang of his blood rather than having it smeared on his thumb.

Oliver reached forward and slipped the wine from Edmund once he finished taking another drink. He brought the bottle to his lips and finished what little was left of the wine, the bottle now empty spare for a few lonely drops at the bottom of the bottle. He gingerly placed the bottle back to the bedside table, where it had been earlier.

"Does it hurt so bad you do need a kiss better? Want me to call your mother for that?" He playfully replied, a slight smirk gracing his features.
 
The wine, execrable for its staining properties, was gone. And Edmund already missed it. Half-drunk, he wanted the full descent into black-out inebriation. All the forbearance he had to exercise, with Oliver, with drinking, was psychologically taxing. But a desire withheld is all the sweeter once gained. Edmund tried to remember that, savoring his soft sufferings.

"Unless your smile can charm spirits as well as hearts, I doubt you'll be in contact with my mother any time soon." Edmund quipped. "Her lips are likely beyond osculation too, all desiccated and peeled back in a rictus grin. Though, a kiss with some bite isn't beyond my sphere of interest." He looked to his empty hands and smiled as he rolled his wounded lip between his teeth, teasing it to sting once again. There was something distracting and pleasurable in the sensation. He blamed it as an effect of the wine.
 
Oliver tilted his head to the side. Was he describing his mother? The tone of his voice sounded gentle, pensive, as he spoke of his mother. Though at the mention of a kiss, Oliver's eyes subconciously drifted towards his lips again, not really caring that much anymore that he was staring and being more than rude at this moment.

"Don't bit your lip," Oliver lightly scolded, pulling his lower lip away from his teeth with his thumb, giving him a half hearted glare that looked more playful that something of a warning. "You'll make it worse and end up bleeding so much the sea will turn red," Oliver added with a soft mumble, his thumb swiping over his bottom lip, doing so almost without thinking, really. It felt natural to be this intimate. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was just how comfortable Oliver was right now.
 
Edmund's hand wrapped around Oliver's, gripping it, lightly, firmly, but not pulling it away. The air felt palpable around him. Every current and subtle difference in temperature dared his skin to shiver. But he resisted. Gods and graces, did he resist. Edmund could feel his breath gradually condensing against the skin of Oliver's hand, wet and warm, an indirect exchange. Edmund dared to trace his lips along the tips of Oliver's fingers. His tongue felt heavy, his jaw eager. Edmund wanted something between his teeth, against his tongue, bruising his lips.

"You shouldn't tease." He warned, his eyes dark beneath the shadow of his brow. "Thieves have a weak resolve. And I don't think either of us know just what we'd be getting into." Because nothing was ever simple with Oliver's station in life. And Edmund hadn't the heart for a dalliance.
 
Oliver's eyes stayed heavily focused still on his lips. He was unable to miss the way Edmund let his fingers stay tracing lightly and airly over his lower lip. The grip on his wrist was ginger. He could pull his hand away with ease if he wanted to. But he didn't, in all honesty. He wanted to continue to feel his warm breath spreading over his skin, the warmth from his hand around his wrist seeping into him.

"Who the fuck cares, Edmund." Oliver replied, his face almost blank. "What's the worst that would happen? The rumors happen to be true? There's worse things for me to deal with, quite frankly. This becoming fact doesn't change how my staff acts, how my people think." Oliver continued, eyes shifting up to meet Edmund's.
 
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