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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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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.

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aaaa sorry i never got this notif

notifocalypse 2020 strikes again...

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