Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

"Do not patronize me!" Edmund snapped, wrenching away from Oliver's touch. Edmund was sober enough not to violently push him, but not nearly drunk enough to put his emotions to rest. A mess was the light way of putting it. He felt mangled and macerated, held together by tenuous sinews and gristle. Ugly, wretched and keening for recourse. He could feel it like a chicken bone lodged in his throat, and as heat spreading across his shoulders, the devil promising relief in violence. And Edmund just wanted to drink himself asleep. Would Oliver deny him that mercy?

"I'm not your pet." he said quietly in a stuttered breath, fragile. "I'm not a mess you can tidy." Edmund took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure with little success. He looked out, into the ballroom. Oliver belonged there, not out here, not with Edmund. "Maybe I am jealous." he conceded, his expression caught between melancholy and contempt. "Or maybe I'm just angry that I had deluded myself into thinking there could be more."

Edmund didn't know exactly what he wanted, but he knew it was more than what he could get. And he knew the suitors courting Oliver could. They could have it all while he was only afforded a taste. He should have been happy with even that much, but a selfish creature can't help but desire more.
 
Perhaps for once in Oliver's life he was speechless. Before he was always able to bounce back, no matter how awkward, tense or ridiculously annoying the situation. But today, right now, right as Edmund finished speaking, he didn't know how to respond. How was he supposed to know? Nothing he could say could make the situation better, to ease Edmund and have things as they should be. But what was the situation supposed to be? He and Edmund free to have a relationship much closer, intimate and dangerous than any other Oliver would and could have? Oliver's expression fell, and he looked down at the floor, trying to figure out what to say to.... he wasn't sure what he wanted his words to do.

He carded his fingers through his hair, and sighed heavily. He turned away from Edmund and went to the balcony railing, away from where Edmund had previously vomited from, and simply looked out at the estate's garden. It was immaculate, elaborate, and as expensive and gorgeous as the ballroom. In the distance, Oliver could see the sun slowly inching its way to the horizon.

"What should we do, then?" He finally spoke. He didn't look back at Edmund. His expression hurt too much to bear looking at. How did things fall apart so quickly? Perhaps it was the reality of it all. They shouldn't be together.

"Pretend it never happened? That I'm just a king and you're just a servant? That there never was anything more?" Oliver continued. He paused, not wishing to raise his voice.

"But it did happen, and I don't wish it to end." He finally turned to face Edmund. "What should we do? Seems like you're the one who should answer."
 
"Get drunk?" Edmund suggested in a bark of cruel laughter. That had been his plan. If he could numb it, if could avoid seeing Oliver with suitors, then maybe Edmund could pretend that he wasn't being smothered by jealousy and an unattainable desire. But it didn't matter how much he drank, a glass or an ocean, he couldn't swallow that sorrow lodged in his throat. Excision threatened to be the only recourse for it.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. "Should I just consent to sexual promiscuity, declare ourselves swingers? Or set some vulgar requisite like 'It's okay if you fuck her as long as I get to watch'?" Edmund suggested, trying to hide his hurt behind irreverence. But even that small pretense was too much to maintain. Edmund looked aside and then back again. "Part of me just wants to kiss you here and now." he confessed. "It'd be suicidal to make us public, but part of me wants to throw everything away and bury anyone who has the audacity to tell us otherwise."

He must have been drunk. All he'd ever had was his life, and Edmund was saying he'd risk that on a chimerical romance with Oliver, a king. Who was to say they even loved each other? It could have been loneliness, desperation or even a matter of simple proximity. There was so much Edmund didn't know. He felt half crazy and in over his head.
 
Oliver's head hurt and throbbed, instantly brought on by this shitshow of a situation. Things were quite literally smooth sailing for a while, but as soon as they touched the firm ground of reality, it slipped away, gone, unfeasible. He should've known better than to let himself do this, all of it. The promotion, the room, the attention, the kiss, the wedding.... It was one mistake after another, each leading closer and closer to a shipwreck.

Oliver once more didn't know what to say. Edmund kept spilling more truth they couldn't avoid and that they had to face at one point or another. That this situation had no good end regardless of how they go about it. It hurt in every conceivable way to realize.

"Fuck, I don't know." He finally spoke again, running a hand down his face. "Should we leave this stupid wedding to talk? Or would you rather stay with the alcohol?" His voice was deadpan, only wishing to leave the presense of everyone else at the reception. He wanted to leave anyways.
 
"I'm sure they provide room service." Edmund said, half in jest, half serious. Tempting as passing out on the dance floor sounded, he was rather sick of the reception. Being in attendance of an event that symbolized the culmination of another couple's relationship was a cruel joke, and Edmund wasn't having a laugh. He was all in favor of leaving. Alcohol was easy enough to avail in an estate, he needn't anyone to serve it to him.

"How's your room sound?" Edmund asked. "Mine shares a wall with some nosy staffers, and it's smaller." Not to mention it made more sense, should they be caught, that he was in Oliver's quarters and not the other way around. They could lament their fortunes in privacy, if not find a moment's solace in embrace as they had on the ship. It was barely a day ago, and it already felt so far past them.
 
"Anywhere is better than here." Oliver bluntly replied. Though, his room sounded best. They'd just have to sneak away from the festivities as inconspicuous as they possibly could manage and then they were free to... figure this mess out. Oliver's throbbing head only got more intense in pain.

Oliver scanned the ballroom quickly, everyone he saw clearly preoccupied with other people there. "Don't trail close to me," he mumbled to Edmund before taking off at a casual stride, giving short hellos and greetings to any whom he passed by. Soon enough he was out of the ballroom with little issue, making his way to the main part of the estate where the guests rooms were located. He briefly went through the gardens before locating the familiar entrance and entering. A few stairs, some turns and he was able to find his room. He stopped at the door, listening for any sign of Edmund nearby. Maybe it wasn't smart to leave a drunk man on his own, but Oliver didn't want to rouse any attention.
 
'Don't trail close.' Never would he, as that would imply that he was actually doing his job. Edmund chose to take a more circuitous route, cutting through the butler's pantry, into the kitchens. The heat of the ovens hit him like a wall, palpable as fog and more sweltering than summer's peak. Line chefs and waiters barked orders, no one payed him any mind. In passing, Edmund pilfered the sherry. An estate that prized the products of its vineyards, he doubted it was salted or cut with vinegar.

Exiting the kitchens, Edmund walked briskly along the loggia toward the guest quarters. Perhaps it was because he'd just been in the heat of the kitchens, but a chill seemed to be settling in with the night. Edmund took a pull from the sherry. Dry, not sweet, and it was unsalted. He'd been right. What memory he had of the estate layout was slow to recall. The fog of alcohol making cognition somewhat sluggish, Edmund leaned against a wall momentarily to gather himself.

What was he doing? Edmund felt torn by ambivalence, not knowing what to do about Oliver. That Edmund snapped at him on the balcony was regrettable, even if his words were honest. With an enervated sigh, Edmund climbed the stairs, half pulling himself along by the railing. In the hall he saw Oliver had arrived first, as expected. Edmund took another quick drink, not knowing how to greet him in approach.
 
Once he saw Edmund in his field of view and close enough to him, he entered his room for the duration of the trip, holding it open for Edmund and closing it softly afterwards. He said nothing, simply moving straight to the bed where he took a seat. Really, his silence and actions were a method of stalling; he was trying desperately to think of something to say, something that wouldn't end in Edmund yelling more things that were absolutely the truth or some sugar coated bullshit that he knew he couldn't uphold.

He sighed softly, looking down at the ornate, embroidered bedspread. "I don't know where to start," He plainly admitted, his voice soft, quiet. His fingers traced along the gold petals of a flower. "There's no solution where we end up together and it doesn't ruin my political career." He continued, following the outlines of the leaves below the flower.

"I don't want to end it, either." He added after a moment of silence, his hand stopping its movements and simply splaying over the fabric. He looked over at Edmund. He noticed the bottle of sherry. He wasn't surprised. He didn't wish to do anything about it either. "Any thoughts to add to the shit fest?"
 
"Scatology isn't my forte, despite how much of it I talk." Edmund quipped, moving to sit beside Oliver. He hunched forward in thought, the sherry held loosely between his knees. The gravity of their circumstance hung heavy about them. What crepuscular light illuminated the room, was slowly fading. He'd need to light the lamps soon. Or would it be better to let the room grow dark, let the shadows tuck around and comfort them?

Edmund sighed, watching some distant part of the carpet. "What it's going to come down to is how much you want to risk, and how much I'm going to hurt." he began slowly. "If you want to put it all on the line, then I will to. Your lineage doesn't end with you. Not marrying a prominent figure and having progeny would limit your political influence, but not nullify it. The people, and whatever cousin is in line after you, may even like the idea of you marrying a man from the common class. Those loyal to your estate and father, however, would take umbrage, and potentially target me."

Taking a quick drink, Edmund continued. "If you've any political agenda and want to minimize the damages, we need to break this clean, here and now. Nothing has gone public. You can still take it all back." And that hurt to say. Edmund drank again, trying to swallow that feeling cinching his throat. "And if you want to try walking the line between then, I- ... I'll try." he summarized weakly, though knew it was temporary. Edmund could only take so much before he sympathized with the darkness. And what then? He didn't want to think of what iniquity he was capable of under such emotional stress, but he felt it would end in a tragedy. So pathetic and cliche.

He laughed to himself before adding in jest, "Or marry someone celibate who can keep secrets like the grave."
 
Oliver placed his face in his hands. First it was his father's passing, much too soon and the thrusting of all responsibilities of a kingdom he wasn't prepared to take over, and now he's gotten himself in a love affair with one of his servants. Not even one who could at least promise a heir and could at least justify the large differences between class and the jump to a royal after marriage... He hated having to think about succession all the time. All he amounted to was keeping his kingdom prosperous and pop out babies who will do the same for years and years to come. It was stifling.

"It's too risky to make this public, and it won't do our relationship any good sneaking about like teenagers..." Oliver breathed out heavily. He could practically feel the bags under his eyes starting to form already. His eyes felt heavy. At the mention of a partner who would be able to keep secrets to the grave, he briefly thought of Lady Geneva, but he didn't know if he could trust her like that, let alone marry her just to conceal his own secrets and have his love for not his wife, but his damn servant. Every option he had would end in some sort of loss or gamble and Oliver wasn't sure what he was able to sacrifice and what would be worth it.

"The last option sounds good but practically impossible. Giving up lots of my powers to the throne after just inheriting it... or just keep it quiet and secret, only us knowing..." He trailed off, rubbing his eyes. "...I guess... for now, we should just continue keeping it quiet and secret. I can't decide this in one night." He mumbled into his hands.
 
It wasn't what Edmund wanted to hear. He didn't know what he wanted Oliver to decide on, but that, though expected and understandable, was a passive kind of sadism. Like an infection one didn't have the nerve to excise or the resources to cure without consequence, so it was instead left to fester and suppurate with hope of eventual convalescence. Edmund knew Oliver was hurting too, and knew he ultimately carried the burden of choice, but Edmund couldn't help feeling a touch spiteful and self-loathing.

"No one would blame you for wanting time to think it over." He conceded. "Just try not to put it on hold for long, for my health at least." Edmund smiled lightly, taking a drink in emphasis of his point. He honestly didn't know how long he could hold out. He'd either become consumed with jealousy or begin pulling away from Oliver, the outcome weighing on what he thought a relationship with Oliver was worth. Edmund supposed Oliver was thinking the same about him. What was it worth? He didn't want it to end, but how much was he willing to sacrifice to keep it?

Setting the sherry aside, Edmund tried to apologize. "I'm sorry." he began inadequately. "I imagine I soured the evening for you."
 
"I'll try and give my answer after the conclusion of this trip, then." Oliver decided. At least that was a choice he could make without long term consequences. Though, with the short time span, he knew he'd be spending time thinking things over rather than sleeping, especially tonight. The topic was heavy, and he had lists upon lists already formed of what could go wrong with merely keeping it secret as they were currently.

"The topic was bound to come up sooner or later. Just... bad setting for it." Oliver replied, his fingers picking at the embroidered bed spread once more. Seems like nowadays he always needed something to keep his fingers busy. "Can you do me a favor, though?" Oliver asked, looking over to Edmund.
 
A bad setting indeed. Nothing like having another couple's love displayed to make one bitter and envious that they can't have similar. At Oliver's askance though, Edmund gave a slight pause. Their discussion had been so heavy, it left him expecting the worst, something he couldn't follow through on. But it also made him all the more willing to try.

"Anything." Edmund insisted, turning to face Oliver fully. "If it's within my capabilities, consider it done." It was a promise he hoped he could keep in spite of his proclivities and otherwise poor character.
 
"Stop drinking tonight. You've had more than enough. Drowning out your sorrow doesn't fix anything," Oliver said softly, reaching over to the bottle of sherry and gingerly picking it up and to the bedside table. Not well hidden, but out of the way for now.

Oliver rubbed his eyes once more, fatigue dragging his eyes downward. "If you'd like to go retire to your own room, feel free." He added after a modest silence, standing up and heading to one of his suitcases, beginning to unbutton his overcoat and slip it from his form.
 
His gut reaction was to drink again immediately, to prolong the sensation, to deepen its state. But despite visceral reluctance, Edmund acquiesced. "As you like." He let the sherry go, let Oliver put it where he pleased. If it brought him piece of mind, then Edmund could abstain until somnolence overcame his consciousness. Oliver's other words, however, felt like a passive dismissal.

"Don't send me away." he exhorted softly. Edmund stood to follow Oliver, but gripped the bedpost before taking step. Sudden yet slow, inebriation came to the forefront of his distorted perception. The world felt like it was tilting, like they were back at sea. He dared to close his eyes for a moment and felt everything pitching, his balance and kinesthesia were off. Edmund was maybe a drink from being absolutely shit-faced, beyond gone drunk. Perhaps Oliver had made a good call after all.

With heavy, measured steps, he crossed the room to Oliver, leaning into him with likely more weight than he'd intended. "Not yet." he whispered. "I don't want to leave on this note." Because he worried it may be their last. If Oliver woke to the conclusion that they were better off without each other, Edmund hated to think this would be his last, honest impression on him.
 
"I gave you a choice. I'm not sending you away," He lightly chided, voice low and laced with the tired that made his brain exhausted as well. He eventually finished unbuttoning his overcoat and he pulled it off of him, haphazardly dropping it onto the floor next to his luggage. He'd fold it and place it away later. Right now, he just wanted to be out of the clothing that felt all too constricting and that was stopping him from going to bed in comfort.

"What note do you wish to leave on, then?" There was a lack of a definite emotion in Oliver's voice. He was curious enough in his fatigued state to question, but not enough to emote more than a dead pan stare and nearly entirely monotonous voice. Next to be unbuttoned was his shirt, which he also took his sweet time unbuttoning.
 
"A higher one?" Edmund suggested, his tone uncertain. "Or perhaps none at all." He bent to retrieve Oliver's discarded overcoat. In hand, he brushed his thumbs fondly over the fabric before snapping the wrinkles from it, folding it and setting it aside. "I'd like to stay if you'll have me."

The chances of them being caught were higher. Customs and routine were different here, a servant could come knocking to inform Oliver of one event or another. And other attendees looking to catch Oliver alone, steal a moment of his time, may turn up unannounced as well. But Edmund didn't care to maintain caution. Part of him wanted to be discovered, like when they were on the balcony. Secrets were such onerous things, and he could feel his shoulders buckling under the weight of this one. So the risks he had earlier eschewed, when their relations were incipient and he was sober, those risks he didn't mind taking now.
 
"I don't mind you staying," He simply replied, finishing up unbuttoning his vest as well and slipping that off. He noticed that Edmund wasted no time in retrieving and folding up his overcoat and folding it for him. He wasn't surprised particularly at his behavior, but it made him feel bad that this was just how it was supposed to be: Edmund cleaning up after Oliver's messes.

He headed back over to the bed to slip off his boots, unceremoniously unlacing them and making them looser to be ready to pry off of his feet. "You don't have to clean up after me." He then said, not quite sure what else he should say. Things were... more awkward, tense. It felt like the beginning of their relationship, back when Oliver simply requested Edmund's company during the afternoon when he'd have tea. They were unsure with what to do, what to say, what was okay and what was out of bounds. It felt weird trying to go back to the intimacy of last night when all of this could end by Oliver's own word.
 
"I know." Edmund acknowledged, but continued, assuring even in his drunk and tired state that every article was set right. "I'd just rather it be me than someone else." The thought of being replaced by another servant, someone more professional, adept and conscientious, stung, not because Edmund would lose his privileges, but because he knew it was possible. He was expendable. Oliver could erase it all without sentiment. Nothing was immune to change. Nothing stood forever.

Edmund went and sat at the foot of the bed. He made no move to undress. Everything felt so heavy. The mood, the gloom, his heart and limbs. He felt half in the grave. "I want you to cut me." Edmund said flatly. "Would you do that for me?" It seemed sudden, cheapened by his inebriation, but he was serious. He wanted something lasting from Oliver. He wanted a scar, a reminder, a declaration, a symbol. He wanted Oliver to leave a physical mark to compliment the indelible one on Edmund's heart.
 
Now kicked off and taken off were his boots, though he took care to place them neatly and nicely against one corner of the bed, near a bedpost. He flexed his toes, his feet instantly feeling better after being free from the confines of his boots. Oliver nearly scoffed at the thoughts he was having now. He was really mulling over the fact that his feet felt nice not wearing boots when there was more pressing matters to be occupying his mind.

Such as whatever the fuck Edmund just said.

Oliver whipped his head to look at him, eyes wide in disbelief. He was no stranger to physical pain servants could be subjected to -- typically the lower lords did it to feel superior and to feel as if they had some sort of power -- but this? Oliver wasn't sure he even understood his words correctly.

"You want me to hurt you?" He clarified, his voice laced heavily with disbelief and shock. "Edmund, no. I can't do that." He followed up, tossing clarification out the window. Even if it was Edmund's request... what good would it do? Inflicting pain onto another was something he never wanted to do.
 
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