lepidity | ( closed )

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Aah, this is quite bad, isn't it. Serpico's expression remains as calm and placid as ever as he steps out of the carriage. But unseen, his thoughts churn as he gazes over the mess strewn about the narrow mountain pass.

This was supposed to be a straightforward journey to one of the border duchies to assist in negotiations and delivery messages, so it had seemed appropriate to bring only a small handful of servants and guards, leaving the rest to assist with keeping his estate running. How was he to know that a group of bandits had just started roaming the area, just waiting to ambush them?

Serpico sighs as he circles around the dead horses, the littered corpses of bandits and servants alike, and glances at the broken wheel to the carriage before looking off the edge of the pass. They're a long way from the base of the mountain, and further still from any towns or settlements. To his knowledge, this isn't a very commonly-traveled path, either. He gives a soft hum in thought before turning to the only other man still alive -- his guard. Or rather, his bodyguard-cum-executioner.

"I hope you haven't been injured in the skirmish?"

He asks it politely enough because it's the proper thing to do, but they both know that Lon'qu is completely untouched. After all, the higher council wouldn't have assigned this man to watch over him unless he was exceedingly skilled. Lon'qu could probably fight off a mob twice this size without breaking a sweat, Serpico imagines.

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Lon’qu merely grunts in reply, too occupied with wiping his sword clean upon the clothing of the deceased. He’s surreptitiously surveying the scene of the carnage as well, glancing over the bodies of the bandits as though they might reveal some clue.

Something about all this doesn’t sit right with him. His employers had already paid a considerable amount to have him dispose of Serpico—a duty which he still has every intention of carrying out—so they’d have no need of deliberately placing them in the path of an ambush. Nor would the bandits have any reason to lie in wait in such a sparsely traveled road, unless they were truly desperate for easy quarry.

Well, they’ll never know the reason now. And Serpico’s ultimate fate hasn’t changed. The only real inconvenience here is that they’ll have to carry on on foot, and he’s not sure he’s up to babysitting some spoiled nobleman on top of guarding him from bandits.

Rising to his feet, Lon’qu idly contemplates ending the man’s life here, but…no. This isn’t the right time yet. And until then he’ll have to persevere.

“Get what supplies you can carry out of the carriage. We’ll have to travel on foot before any of their friends arrive.”

He'd wondered if Lon'qu might try to kill him here and now, and Serpico gives a silent sigh of relief when that sword isn't pointed at him. Though he's confident he might have been able to put up a decent struggle, the terrain here isn't to his advantage; without the element of surprise, he's sure he wouldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.

But for now, his life seems to have been spared, and Serpico surreptitiously loosens the tension in his wrist where he'd been prepared to reach for his short sword. At Lon'qu's brusque command he makes sure to give a small twitch, as if startled, and he hesitates for a moment too long before nodding.

"-- yes, of course."

He makes sure to stumble for a moment, too, as he heads back into the carriage.

It would probably be best to play dumb and helpless for now, he assumes. To get Lon'qu to lower his guard around him and assume he's just stuck babysitting a stupid, helpless, spoiled noble. An easy enough role to play.

Serpico swiftly gathers a few things from the luggage in the carriage -- warmer coats to help weather the evening, a few small items of preserved food, a compact metal case containing the valuables they'd been told to transport, his ceremonial sword -- and exits the carriage after a few moments. The first thing he does is approach Lon'qu, making sure to look up past the curtain of his bangs, eyebrows raised and voice kept low to better sell the image of a nervous, helpless man.

"You should take this one ..."

As he holds out one of the coats for Lon'qu to take, he's doing an admirable job of acting out the role of the uneasy, pampered noble far out of his element. ... maybe too good a job, actually.

Lon’qu pretends he hasn’t noticed Serpico attempting to reach for his weapon. It’s a futile anyway, he thinks, having long since judged Serpico to be far too weak to pose a threat to him. All he needs to do is to play his role as a delegate for one last time, before Lon’qu finally fulfills the terms of his contract.

He hadn’t counted on things going wrong at the start of the journey, though. With an inward sigh, he regards Serpico and his helpless nobleman act, completely falling for it as he snatches the coat with a grunt.

There’s no need to thank a dead man, after all.

“It’s a week’s journey to the border on foot,” he surmises out loud, gazing beyond the field of corpses to the distance. They won’t have time to stop and bury the dead now; more’s the pity. Already, he can see the first crows circling overhead, as though waiting for them to leave. He supposes it’s about time.

He reaches out, grasping at Serpico’s arm none too gently and shoving him forward.

“Now move.”

The grip at his arm is harder than he'd expected, and Serpico stumbles (for real) as Lon'qu shoves him forth. Should he respond indignantly to that? A more spoiled noble certainly wouldn't put up with that attitude.

... well, it's not like he doesn't understand the difficulties of being employed by nobles. And the payoff of causing a fuss doesn't seem worth it. So he settles for giving a small sigh, starting to lead the way as he arranges the supplies he'd picked up.

There's a practiced ease to the way he dons the sword belt, slipping on the coat and strapping the pouch of food over his shoulder. And he starts to do the same for the metal case before changing his mind and holds it out to Lon'qu.

"Would you carry this for me?" That seems in line with what a spoiled noble would do, he figures. But while he's at it, Serpico gives a slight cant of the head, making an uncertain noise before continuing. "And ... would it not be best for you to lead the way? If we run into any other bandits ..."

It would be nice if Lon'qu said yes. Just so he knows he probably won't get backstabbed on the way.

Lon’qu stares at the case with perplexity—and that, more than anything else Serpico’s done so far, is what tips him off that the spoiled, weakling noble may not be all that he seems.

One of his employers had carelessly mentioned something about it being magic within his hearing, but he’d paid it no heed. Magic was something he was absolutely useless at, and therefore it was none of his concern.

Still, a noble entrusting such a precious thing to a hired mercenary like him… Lon’qu grunts, decides that he’ll worry about it later as he takes that case and tucks it away. Keeping things like these safe is also part of his contract, after all.

And then Lon’qu gives him a deadpan look.

“You won’t die until I say so.” But if Serpico doesn’t take the next few moments to move, Lon’qu will silently forge ahead anyway. He doesn’t care to repeat himself.

Serpico does waffle, glancing aside in feigned unease and mumbling a 'but ...' under his breath. And he's glad it pays off. Though he stumbles along with a flustered-sounding 'ah!' when Lon'qu forges on ahead, he breathes an unseen sigh of relief to himself; he'd much rather deal with a bandit attack from behind than Lon'qu's sword at his back.

His footsteps are steady and light despite the rough terrain, and he follows after Lon'qu without any difficulty. Serpico is silent for a few moments before speaking up again.

"You should be more careful with your words."

It's said mildly, and Serpico makes sure to pause before continuing.

"Anyone else would have taken your words as a threat. Is that not counterproductive to your job as a guard?"

A little bratty, a little oblivious. But also, it's an attempt to gauge Lon'qu's exact mindset. Serpico can't tell if the man's just bad with words, or is actually bad at containing his hostility. The former is fine; the latter might require more caution.

“I know what I’m here to do,” he replies, not even bothering to look behind him. He doesn’t care to lie, in any case—being simple and direct has ever been his hallmark as a mercenary. Whatever it is Serpico’s implying, however, he doesn’t care for it one bit.

The nobility are so used to drinking in each other’s lies that they must be reassured in the same way, apparently even under such dire circumstances…

“So save your breath. I’ve no time to waste on the games you nobles play.”

I’m not here to make friends with a dead man.

And he can only hope that that’ll be the end of it, or this’ll be a very long journey indeed.

Edited (screwed up the html) 2020-10-02 15:01 (UTC)

Hm. Maybe a little bit of both. It sounds like he should be cautious, but he doesn't need to waste too much energy watching Lon'qu's every move.

Serpico's only response is a soft exhale and a quiet, "Is that so?"

After a few moments he adds, placidly, "It must be nice. To be so unfettered by the things that us nobles deal in."

There's a prickle of emphasis on his words, but it's so swift and fleeting that most people would dismiss it as simple indignity. A retort from a noble who doesn't like being slighted. But silently, Serpico decides ... he can probably outsmart this man in a truly dire situation. After all, only fools would be so dismissive about the genuine threat of words and cunning. Even when he'd been a commoner, his wits had allowed him to survive when strength had not.

His initial assessment of Lon'qu complete, Serpico settles into quiet compliance, silently keeping pace from a few paces behind. For a 'pampered, spoiled brat,' his endurance is really quite good.

The remark irks him, but Lon’qu’s much too focused on watching for any signs of brigands, on covering their tracks, on searching for an easily defensible area to make camp for the night to consider the nuances of Serpico’s words, to wonder at how well a spoiled and pampered nobleman doesn’t seem all that winded. Let the little lordling whine and bluster—at the end of all this, they’ll be rid of each other soon enough.

And there’s something else bothering him, taking his attention away from his charge. That case, which Lon’qu had carefully tucked away in a pouch at his side. It feels hot, as though something’s trying to burn a hole through it.

He glances back at Serpico, searching the latter’s gaze, wondering if he might have offered that case on purpose, might have been planning some trick. Had he discovered the plot after all?

It doesn’t matter anyway. Lon’qu turns away, stopping for the moment to fish the thing out.

He glances around as they walk, keeping an eye on his surroundings and searching for anything amiss. Not that he's familiar with this region at all -- it's been a while since he's had to travel this far -- but with nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he defaults to taking in their surroundings.

And when Lon'qu glances back at him, Serpico gives a tilt of the head, eyebrows raised in a look of mild curiosity that is, for once, genuine.

He has his suspicions about why Lon'qu has been assigned as his guard, of course. But the case has nothing to do with it. He'd only been told to transport it, and had heard something about its contents being magical.

It's probably not meant to be opened in transit. But, well ... he can't deny he's curious. And if Lon'qu is willing to take that first step, Serpico certainly isn't going to stop him. When he spots Lon'qu stopping to surreptitiously fiddle with the case, Serpico pretends not to have noticed, leaning against a nearby tree as he calls out, "Are we stopping to rest?"

He takes a few exaggerated, panting breaths, but his eyes remain on Lon'qu the whole time.

He doesn’t really want to unlock the case, especially if it’s magical in nature. But the way it’s beginning to burn him, to urge him in some unseen way to open it and reveal its contents, is too much to bear.

“No,” he says bluntly, fishing the case out at last, the surface cold to the touch even as he feels the heat emanating from it. It’s with an effort that he doesn’t drop it for fear of being scorched entire, but the temptation is there, and it makes him tremble.

“Just…Just what kind of game are you playing at?” he demands, sore tempted to fling the thing at Serpico’s feet.

“Why did you have me carry it?”

"Because it's heavy."

It's not that heavy, but it does have some heft just because it's made of metal. And he'd figured that was the kind of logic a pampered noble would use -- any excuse to do a little less work and foist the extra luggage onto the hired hand.

"I'm not accustomed to traveling like this. A burden like that would slow me down, which you wouldn't want either."

So he says, but he doesn't sound out of breath at all, now that he's talking. Serpico does pause afterward though, brow furrowing and a note of concern creeping into his voice.

"... is something wrong?"

Lon'qu does seem rather agitated about more than just the weight of the case.

“You’re lying.” And Lon’qu sees that now, with how Serpico hardly seems winded. By this point any other rich and pampered brat would’ve been panting and begging for them to stop and take a break already.

Serpico’s been keeping up a little too well…

And now he curses himself for not looking into Serpico’s background—for making sure that the man doesn’t have any sort of magical bone in his body, for that is the one thing even a seasoned mercenary like him can’t defeat.

“Either you’re planning on using this to lay a trap on me, or the ones who sent you are.” A third possibility—that this box is meant to entrap one of the officials Serpico’s supposed to be meeting—does occur to him, but it seems much more unlikely in comparison.

He shoves the case at Serpico’s hands then, heedless of whatever other luggage he might be carrying. With his less-smarting hand resting meaningfully upon the hilt of his sword, Lon’qu gives his order:

“Open it.”

The sudden accusation earns a flinch and a wide-eyed blink, and Serpico gives Lon'qu a confused look as if to say "who, me?" But he isn't given much of a chance to retort, and when the metal case is shoved in his hands, he's distracted from whatever it was he'd been planning on saying.

Because the case feels ... odd.

He hadn't realized it before, as it had been wrapped in layers of expensive silks while being transported, but with the metal now bare against his palm, he can feel the unnatural heat radiating from the case. No wonder Lon'qu is so cagey about it.

Still, this isn't a good situation. Serpico looks warily at Lon'qu's sword hand as he tries to back off, but there's no real escape route; he'd foolishly chosen to lean against a tree, which doesn't give him much room to maneuver in case Lon'qu decides to take a swing.

"... the council will be terribly cross if they realize I've tampered with their delivery." It's said weakly, but Serpico knows better than to test his luck in this situation. So he heaves a dramatic sigh, then touches at the clasp of the box, gently easing it open with a click --

then flings it in Lon'qu's direction the moment it starts to open. He can only hope he's acted quickly enough to avoid the effects of whatever the box contained.

Lon’qu doesn’t even attempt to argue, now fully convinced that Serpico is indeed up to something and is simply speaking empty words to buy himself some time.

It’s a fatal mistake.

He raises a hand as the box is flung his way, releasing ominous clouds of purple smoke streaked through with very decidedly magical lightning. He doesn’t even have the time to dodge it, taking the full brunt of whatever it is in the face before he shuts his eyes and manages to swat that box aside.

The air clears between them, the box lying empty in the foliage.

So whatever it is hadn’t been some kind of jewelry. Not that it matters much to Lon’qu, since he promptly drops to his knees, doubling over as a sharp pain like a knife cutting out shapes from his abdomen finally draws a cry from him. He thinks of his sword, which still remains stubbornly sheathed at his side, and glances over at the box, vaguely wondering if he’d in fact breathed some poison meant to kill some upstart lordling instead.

He isn't fast enough, unfortunately, and ends up eating a generous faceful of smoke as the box goes spinning in Lon'qu's direction. And while Serpico was already whipping to his feet as he flung the case at Lon'qu, hand reaching for his short sword to defend himself, it's a good thing the smoke takes down Lon'qu -- because he's in no shape to fight back, either.

The short sword rattles unsteadily against his scabbard as he draws it, and Serpico can barely maintain his grip on it as he faces Lon'qu; he very nearly drops it when a sharp pain rips through his stomach, sending him stumbling back until he lands on his ass.

"-- I told you it wasn't meant to be opened."

Though he manages to wheeze out that droll remark, Serpico regrets it tremendously, because just talking is enough to make his abdomen hurt horribly. Like he's being branded. It's a burning hot pain, searing deep, deep into him.

He weakly maintains his grip on the sword even as he doubles over, but his voice is muffled by ragged breaths as he mumbles, "I didn't know ..."

He’d known what it was like to get carved up—it was merely part of life for a swordsman, after all. But this pain…it’s as though someone had taken a knife to him and written a crude message over his skin, and it’s nothing that he can comprehend with how the pain numbs him, and then…

And then there’s heat, blooming from that same spot. He feels a strong urge to tear off his clothes, if only to see what mark has been placed upon him, but some part of himself still unaffected by that magic keeps his hands firmly at his sides, clutching at chunks of earth and foliage in an attempt to make him forget just how nice it would be if he’d bared himself, let himself cool off a little with the maddening heat of his clothes out of the way…

“Drop it,” he grates out, not bothering to elaborate if he means Serpico’s weapon or his feeble protests. Does it matter anyway? They’re both doomed to a slow, agonizing death, with whatever that poison fog is clouding up his senses, setting his nerves alight. His legs feel heavy; he can barely even feel them as he attempts to rise to his feet, before stumbling to his knees before Serpico instead.

“Gods,” he mutters in a shaky voice, the word coming out like a curse. “What…What’s happening?”

Serpico does drop the sword as he huddles on the ground, feeling dirt and fallen leaves tangle into his clothes but unable to care. He's never felt pain like this before, this searing sensation that pervades his entire body and makes his breath comes in shallow pants.

"... it was probably meant to be sent to the Southern territories. Disguised as a gift." He tries to distract himself by thinking, but it's hard; his thoughts run sluggish, and his chest feels tight with each word he says. "The duke had mentioned increasing tensions at his border ... perhaps he was hoping striking a key figure would discourage any further attacks ..."

He knows Lon'qu is approaching, but he figures neither of them are up for a tousle at the moment. Weathering the effects of whatever was in the box is probably a higher priority to both of them, so he doesn't bother trying to move away. Instead, he claws at the neck of his shirt, yanking off his cravat and undoing the topmost fastenings of his throat. At least that lets him breathe a little easier, and he exhales hoarsely.

"... depending on who the intended recipient was, it may not kill us. The duke is a rash man, but even he wouldn't be foolish enough to kill recklessly." It sure feels like it could kill, though. Serpico gives a wan laugh as he glances up at Lon'qu, eyes narrowed. "I thought ... your job was to keep me alive until you decide otherwise."

What a terrible joke. He's playing calm, but he really will be quite upset if he has to die like this.

Serpico’s words make too little sense to his addled brain, Lon’qu finding himself for the first time in his life on the brink of uncontrollably wanton desire. He can’t even begin to make sense of the use this sort of magic has in the messy world of politics—let alone comprehend the fact that he’s not about to die, but he is about to do something he’ll never be able to live down.

He thinks of his lingering terror of women, how he’d longed to have a more physical relationship with one had his life turned out differently. And he’d trained and trained and fought and trained some more, remaining a virgin all the while.

It hadn’t seemed important at the time.

His gaze lingers on Serpico’s bare throat, his throat far too dry for comfort. He knows what this means, even if he’s never experienced it for himself—even if the other mercenaries had teased him for being perhaps too impotent despite being a swordsman.

And now…now the sight of this pampered noble is making him feel strangely, making him crave things that he’s never had the appetite of before. But Serpico isn’t some mere spoiled lordling, is he?

“I’m not going to kill you,” he manages, reaching out to grab Serpico’s arm and roughly pull him closer, Lon’qu glaring down at him, flushed and yearning and horrified, their lips inches apart.

“But I’ll decide—” He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, as he promptly crushes his lips against Serpico, feeling a mad sense of relief flooding through him.

He's still trying very hard to think, as he always does, because his wits are the only thing that have allowed him to survive this long. Even as the heat continues to rise in the pit of his stomach. Even as Lon'qu draws closer, dirt and leaves crunching beneath him with each movement. Even when the sudden grab at his arm sends a prickle through his nerves. Even as he meets Lon'qu's gaze with a steely determination that would be rare in a pampered noble.

"Decide -- ... ?"

It's only the crush of lips against his own that drags him from his thoughts, and only because the sudden rush of heat makes thinking impossible.

Serpico stiffens at first, his arm locking against Lon'qu's grasp, but even that melts away after a moment or two. Though some tiny, rational corner of his mind is aware that this situation is very wrong, acting on that knowledge becomes impossible the moment he feels even the slight graze of teeth. It sends heat flickering through his nerves, sparks flashing at the edges of his vision, and Serpico thoughtlessly returns the kiss. Aggressively.

It's hardly in-character for him. He's courted women before, just to maintain the image of being a 'regular, pampered noble,' but those had always been quick, discreet affairs, swift and almost emotionless. Nothing like the heated way he presses back up against Lon'qu, free hand coming to tug at the front of his clothes. Serpico knows very well that whatever was in that box is making them act this way.

But that still doesn't stop him from pulling away for a short breath, then ducking back in, tongue swiping against lip to chase that unnatural spark of heat.

Lon’qu doesn’t even think of the wrongness of the situation, nor of the propriety of whatever it is they’re doing. He’s too far gone, too lost in the moment to consider anything else but the heat and warmth of the nearest body and how wonderful Serpico’s mouth feels and how badly Lon’qu wants to tear all that prim and proper clothing off of him. And he won’t do it gently, either. Unlike Serpico, after all, Lon’qu’s wearing the distinctly foreign garb of his country of origin, which is all folds and ties, with none of those troublesome accoutrements of nobility that’s currently keeping Serpico far too tightly bound and thus away from him.

And all the while he’s kissing Serpico fiercely, sloppily, having had little experience to the effect. Teeth clack against teeth, tongue fighting tongue, Lon’qu sucking his breath in as he quickly chases after Serpico’s lips. And as that storm of desire continues to build up between them Lon’qu reaches to the side, groping at the damp earth until he finds what he’s looking for—grabs the hilt of Serpico’s discarded sword.

In one swift movement—and without even breaking that kiss—he snatches at the front of Serpico’s clothing and runs the edge of the blade down the length of it, tearing the fabric open to reveal the mark of their terrible curse at last.

As dazed and heated as he feels, Serpico has just enough presence of mind to flinch when he hears the metallic clack of his sword. But there's not much room for him to pull away -- when he jerks his head aside with a muffled grunt, Lon'qu's too quick to close the distance between them once more, clacking teeth off teeth before biting into his lip. The best he can manage is to grope at Lon'qu's forearm, clumsily trying to stall his movements.

He's immediately relieved when the sword only tears through his clothes, especially because it somehow feels right to expose himself like this. His chest rises in a hard gasp the instant he's allowed a moment to breathe, and Serpico smiles dryly as he glances down at his ruined clothes.

"These were probably worth months of your pay --"

And then he suddenly shoves Lon'qu at armslength, much harder than might have been expected. Because looking down like this, he's caught sight of the strange mark on his abdomen, which should not be there. Serpico's frozen in shock for a split second before he looks up at Lon'qu, his gaze fierce and sharp. A far cry from the gormless, innocent look he'd been wearing until now.

"-- what about you?"

He yanks hard at Lon'qu's clothes, trying to get past the unfamiliar folds and ties. Mostly to see if Lon'qu's also been inflicted with that strange mark. But he can't deny that seeing bared flesh doesn't send a hot thrill down his spine.

Lon’qu drops the sword at the shove, though he hardly minds it, the deed having been done to his satisfaction already. Still, when he falls back onto the forest floor he’s more annoyed than surprised at the shove, hating the feeling of suddenly being parted from someone he’d never wanted to see again only moments before.

But all thoughts of killing Serpico are behind them for the moment, for what use would Serpico be to him dead considering their predicament? And besides…

He’d seen the mark as well.

“What do you think?” he grates out, but whether he means the tattoos or their situation in general, it’s left unclear. There’s too much happening in the moment for Lon’qu to process everything—especially as he’s beginning to realize that they’re not, in fact, in battle, and Serpico isn’t trying to fight for his life here.

So he doesn’t move as Serpico undresses him. But he is sitting up a little, braced by his arms against the forest floor, watching Serpico undo the sash holding his robes together, pulling aside his outer and inner robes until he’s finally exposed, all muscle and scars from chest to stomach, and he sucks in a breath, the sight of his own mark somehow making him blush.

He doesn’t understand how that is, given that it’s only a series of abstract brushstrokes, and not a scarred and bloodied patch of skin. They seem, from his point of view, to be forming the head of an arrow—or perhaps a stylized heart? Either way, he squirms beneath Serpico’s gaze, feeling the heat emanating from his new mark.

Thanks, he hates it.

He ends up kneeling above Lon'qu's lap as he grapples with a sash, giving a frustrated grunt before he manages to undo the knot. Any bystander would be scandalized by what he's doing, but he can't be bothered to worry about such things at the moment. His immediate priority is yanking open Lon'qu's shirt open and the waist of his pants down until he manages to find the same mark emblazoned on his abdomen.

Serpico stares at it in silence for a moment, brow furrowed and breaths coming in low rasps. Then he gives a long sigh as he sinks down, ending up kneeling in Lon'qu's lap.

It feels like a natural position to be in, his body yearning to maintain an intimate distance between them, but he's distracted rubbing a hand against his temple, speaking in a low mutter.

"I see. Something like this would certainly be a good distraction. If a general were to be affected by something like this, no doubt with his second-in-command present, the chaos it would cause ... In a best-case scenario, the discomfort would hamper their ability to fight. Complicate their plans. But in a worst-case scenario, someone might be banished or executed to hide the shame."

His words trail off into a frustrated noise, and Serpico ducks his head in thought. Then finally, he meets Lon'qu's gaze once more. Grimly resigned.

"... well, I'm fairly certain it won't kill us." He sighs as he settles his weight back down, frowning as he touches at the mark on his own body. It feels hot to touch, and tingly. "At least, not for a while. So you've no need to worry that we've been poisoned. It's a curse."

“What are you talking about?” Lon’qu demanded, more than a little horrified at what he’s hearing. The fact that this is some kind of curse is plain enough to him, though its true purpose continues to elude him.

But then again, it’s not as if he doesn’t already know what this curse entails. He’d only heard rumors of certain cruel and unusual forms of magic, but hadn’t paid them much heed. Until now, he hadn’t thought it was even necessary to defend himself from such things.

But that’s not important right now. Lon’qu, ever practical, focuses on what matters:

“How do we get rid of this—this curse?”

Surely Serpico might have the antidote hidden among the luggage he’d carried over—after all, he’d need some sort of leverage to blackmail others with, right?

But in his heart of hearts he knows that it won’t be that simple.

Serpico just stares at Lon'qu for a quiet moment at that, his gaze steady and sharp, like a wild animal silently evaluating a hunter.

And then he smiles and slowly gets to his feet. His balance is a little wobbly, a part of him aching to sit back down in Lon'qu's lap and close the distance between them, but self-discipline has always been one of his strengths.

"That, I'm afraid I cannot say."

There's the rustle of fabric as he starts rearranging his torn clothes, trying to use his belt to keep them fastened in place.

"I feel the council doesn't trust me very much." He says it airily, like it's an idle observation. Like he has no idea that distrust is the very reason Lon'qu has been assigned as his watchdog and executioner. "I was given no notice that I was carrying something so dangerous. So I wasn't given any information about how to undo the curse either, of course."

His hands jolt when he accidentally brushes his fingers against that mark, and he has to stifle a noise from the back of his throat. Serpico grits his teeth as he fastens his belt tight, then looks back to Lon'qu.

"Ah, in case you'd considered killing me to rid yourself of the curse, I'd advise against it. It may work. But it may not. And I doubt you're interested in, ah ... being smitten by a corpse."

The smile irks him—all the more so since Serpico seems to have collected himself well enough to actually pull away. Not to be outdone, he also rises to his feet, though he doesn’t see much point in fixing up his clothes.

They’re still not done here, after all. And he’s still not convinced that Serpico isn’t lying, especially not with how smug he’s being despite being similarly affected by the curse.

With an effort, he strides forth to lay a firm hand on Serpico’s shoulder.

“Then we will find a way to rid ourselves of this curse.” Or at any rate himself, since it won’t matter for Serpico in the long run.

“Now.”

He's feigning calm, but his self-control is hanging on by a thread. So when Lon'qu grabs his shoulder, Serpico reflexively jerks back, biting his lip as he feels the heat tingle through his skin. Though his eyes are narrowed, expression still arranged in that distant half-smile, there's a flush to his cheeks that refuses to fade.

"Oh? I wasn't aware you're able to use magic."

His first instinct is to play obtuse, but he knows what Lon'qu is insinuating. And part of him is thrilled at the thought. Even as he squares his shoulders, he can't help the way his gaze drifts down over Lon'qu's bared chest and the mark emblazoned on his abdomen.

"... I do suppose it would be difficult to continue travelling in this state."

He can’t even feel any satisfaction at the way Serpico’s composure breaks, that reaction only serving to fuel Lon’qu’s own very confusing desires.

And he is, quite frankly, much too aroused to even be embarrassed by them anymore—

“We only need to do it once, right?” That’s all this curse is—a temporary humiliation. It has to be. Lon’qu can’t see any practical reason to prolong anyone’s suffering in this manner—especially when such severe obstacles to power are more easily dealt with at the end of the blade.

But Lon’qu has a very limited understanding of how these subtle political games work. All he knows is what he feels at the moment—a lingering, uncontrollable desire, an itch. An urge to open himself up, make himself vulnerable.

It’s a horrible feeling. He hasn’t opened up to anyone in years. The last time had happened before…well. He recalls that there had been brigands that day, too.

With a click of his tongue, he pulls his arm away, to glance away and begin disrobing himself.

“So take the rest off, if you don’t want me ruining them.”

Because he’s certainly not paying for the damages, their costs notwithstanding.

"No, that ..."

It's horribly naive if Lon'qu really believes a curse like this would be so easily dispelled. Would the council go through all the effort of delivering a trap for such a paltry payoff? But ... what if they had been that hasty? There's a chance, isn't there?

Serpico's words have trailed off into uneasy silence because he's distracted watching Lon'qu disrobe. Just seeing the way fabric slips away from his skin sends a hot flush through his chest, and there's a heavy pause before Serpico shakes his head.

He's always maintained strict control over his state of mind, because it was always the one thing he did have control over. And losing that control is far more discomforting than he'd even thought it would be.

Maybe it really would be best to make this attempt, just so he can regain his self-control as quickly as possible.

There's the click of the belt buckle as he begins undoing his ruined clothes, giving a unsubtle sigh.

"Judging by your demeanor, I hadn't pinned you as someone so ... wanton."

Lon’qu pauses, his robes now carelessly tossed aside, leaving him clad in naught but his boots and trousers. Even his sword has been kicked aside for the moment, because while he doesn’t truly believe that Serpico can wield the thing against him, well…he’s not unmindful of the possibility of any accidents out here.

At any other time he might have worried about brigands, or whatever else those dead bodies down the lonely road might attract. They might be a ways into the woods, but still…

He scoffs.

“You’d be the only witness to it.”

He’s in no mood to pursue the charade. They as the executioner and the condemned must learn to live with these facts, even if…

He laughs at that, brief and airy.

"You speak as if you know my words will hold no weight in the future."

It's as close as he'll come to openly accusing Lon'qu of being what he is -- an assassin just waiting for the signal to make the kill.

It's in sharp contrast to the way he lets his coat and overshirt drop to the ground, though he pauses for a moment, then keeps his ruined tunic hanging open over his shoulders.

"I'd rather not remove this." It shouldn't matter too much, he thinks.

Lon’qu doesn’t bother to answer that. What’s the point? They both know the real stakes at hand. Despite this little setback, Serpico still seems well and articulate enough to carry out his purpose before the bitter end. And he’s certainly proven himself smart enough to be aware of it.

Even Serpico can’t escape his blade forever. And Lon’qu has to force himself to look away as Serpico undresses, trying not to stare down each patch of exposed skin, because he knows he’s not sizing the man up for the kill, but for something else entirely.

He can feel that strange brand burning all the hotter upon his skin.

“I don’t care. Let us be done with this.”

He tries to make a big show by saying that, but even now he’s finding it difficult to meet Serpico’s eyes. He doesn’t know the first thing about having sex—no, that’s not true. He’s lived in the streets for long enough and lived with other mercenaries long enough to know all those niggling little details. But hearing about such things and putting them into practice is a little…it’s not something he wants to admit to.

With an effort, he lifts up a hand to reach for Serpico—to touch him, draw him closer, his whole body trembling with unwonted anticipation. Gods, he hates this, hates how much he wants this and hates how hard it is for him to make that first step. Someone like Serpico’s probably sampled plenty of such pleasures already, while here Lon’qu finds himself lost and alone in an ironic twist of fate.

But his hand stops partway, causing him to hastily withdraw it with a muttered curse.

Serpico's made a big show of acting calm, but it's actually taking him all his effort to maintain control of himself. And even that, only out of habit. A lifetime spent in service of others' desires has meant the only thing he's ever had to call his own is his mind, and he's maintained a stubborn, iron grip on it all this time. It's vexing to think that some ridiculous curse is what will finally force him to relinquish control of himself, and the low simmer of anger at the back of his mind only makes the heat in his gut burn hotter.

Strained so tight against the curse's effects, he's tense as a bowstring when Lon'qu reaches for him -- and flinches when the hand halts halfway there.

His kneejerk response is a low huff of frustration. And then he hates himself for being frustrated, for wanting that hand to make contact and relieve him of the curse's burn. The longer this goes, the worse the circumstances are. Serpico closes his eyes and exhales slowly, brow knitted.

Then he steps forward, throwing his arms over Lon'qu's neck to pull him close for a kiss.

If Lon'qu was expecting any sort of sultry grace, he'll be disappointed. What Serpico makes is a pragmatic gesture, and a surprisingly rough one; even as he deepens the kiss, trying to drown out his doubts with the heat exuding from that curse, he drags Lon'qu back two, three steps until he can lean back against a tree. Purely for practical reasons. His legs already feel wobbly, and he's in no mood to topple over backwards.

He pulls back for air after a moment, and gives Lon'qu a look that the other's never seen from him before -- sharp, vicious, and cold. It's at odds with his unfailingly polite tone of voice.

"'Let us be done with this,' yes?"

He hates this, hates being caught in that moment of weakness, but before he can berate himself any further Serpico’s quick to distract him, and Lon’qu finds himself lean into that kiss with a more intense fervor than he realizes.

He wants this. By the gods, he wants this, and that want tugs him forward as surely as Serpico does, until even Lon’qu has to grace an arm against the trunk of the tree to steady himself. The fact that it’s not some dainty little peck like he’d expected from a spoiled noble does occur to him, but only for a moment, the thought far too fleeting and too unimportant in light of that kiss—harsh and heated and aggressive and just the way, he’s realized, he likes it.

When Serpico pulls away he gasps, staring dumbly at Serpico’s lips, realizing too that he’d bitten them more than he’d intended, before his gaze ratchets upward. He remembers to breathe.

And he frowns, flushing up to his ears. The nerve of this bastard.

“You’re not easy to like.” It’s probably the nicest thing he’ll every say to Serpico, but any more provocation and he might reach for his sword after all.

Some part of him thrills at the thought, and not in any way that he considers normal.

A hot sting lingers on his lips, pinpricks of sensation where teeth have dragged a little too hard, and Serpico distractedly touches his tongue against them.

Even if he's had the company of women before, it's never been like this, not even the most heated moments. Is it just because of the curse? ... no, there has to be more than that. Maybe it's the fact that Lon'qu is a very real threat to him, and his heightened awareness makes every touch and movement feel all the more vivid. Or maybe it's the sheer strength and viciousness he can feel wound tight in Lon'qu's body, especially evident now that they're in such close company.

"So I've been told."

Serpico smiles, but there's no hiding the flush to his cheeks, the way his breathing is a little rougher now.

"Come closer. It's cold."

And he's never liked the cold. His arms tug insistently at Lon'qu's shoulders, dragging him closer, fingers drifting up to toy with the longer strands of his hair before nails drag lightly against the back of his neck. A needling gesture. Daring Lon'qu to do something, too.

“We’re close enough,” he replies breathlessly, letting Serpico draw him in anyway. He hates that it’s gotten this far, but he can’t quite let it come across in his words and actions anymore.

And somehow he doesn’t feel as bad about it as he might have been.

“And you’re the experienced one between us.” He thinks. “So how should I”—clicking his tongue—“touch you?”

But this is as good as admitting that he’s never really done it, and he’s not sure he wants to know how Serpico feels about that. Or rather, he feels far too much excitement at whatever reaction he’s anticipating from this nobleman, who really isn’t quite what he seems, is he?

One thing Lon’qu knows for sure: just because he’s inexperienced doesn’t mean he wants to rut like animals out here. They’ll conduct this properly, if they must do this at all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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aaaa sorry i never got this notif

notifocalypse 2020 strikes again...

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