Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

The worst would be Oliver growing bored of him. When all had been given, every story told, the excitement gone, and the embers raked, would Oliver not seek out someone new? Oliver would eventually marry, he could never be Edmund's alone. And if Edmund were an exception to the royals's monogamy, then would there not be others? Younger, more attractive, more educated, more influential, more than Edmund could ever amount to. Would it then not be better for Edmund to forebear, hoard his cards, ever leading on with 'maybe one day we will'? Otherwise, he risked breaking what stone of a heart he had, and Oliver's friendship, Edmund's jealousy was likely to rend it asunder.

"I care." Edmund averred, pulling Oliver's hand away, but still holding it. Edmund looked solemnly at him. "I selfishly care, and not for your reputation, though I will always exhort you take caution of any calumny evoked. I fucking wish I refrained exclusively out of your interest. But it's also out of self preservation a... less physical sense of it." Edmund inhaled sharply, looking aside for a moment and then back to Oliver.

Edmund had what he wanted. He had a private room and a promotion. He hadn't right to ask for anything more, and was in too much debt to. He couldn't deny Oliver anything in light of that. Whores could repress their emotions and affect those necessary, so why couldn't Edmund?

Because he really was, incorrigibly selfish.

"I just need to know," he asked, his tone and features without expression. "Is what you want serious or for fun?"
 
It was a bit of a shock, the sudden tone shift between the two of them. It shouldn't have been surprising, however. Oliver was the one to have brought up the idea in the first place, the one to have changed the tone, the one who made Edmund now deadpan, serious. All notes of jest were absent from the atmosphere between them and the sound of Edmund's voice.

Oliver's immediate thought was that he wanted this to be serious. He wanted what was between them to be so much tiptoe and more of openly expressing one another, to be comfortable entirely. He craved intimacy, and especially from Edmund.

"If I wanted fun, I'd get a whore," was Oliver's response. "If I wanted fun, I wouldn't be wasting my time giving you unnecessary raises in position, or your own private room, or even allow you to share the same quarters as me." Oliver continued, looking down at Edmund's hand, still holding loosely onto his own. "Does that answer your question?"
 
Though an obstinate, defensive part of Edmund still refused to believe Oliver's candor, it was overall ignored as a feeling of both relief and delight imbued him. "Understand that, " Edmund haltingly began before finding his words. "I'm- Nothing- Never in life have I been given anything without expense or consequence. So, I suppose I've been waiting for the ax to fall." He adjusted his hold on Oliver's hand so as to brush the knuckles with his thumb, absently, endearingly. Edmund tried not to smile, not wanting it to mitigate the seriousness and honesty of his words. He failed however, looking very much like an unapologetic child caught in the act.

"That I imposed my beliefs onto your character in such a way was unconscionable and offensive of me." Edmund brought Oliver's hand back to his lips, held his knuckles there for a single breath, it rolling slow over the back of Oliver hand. And like the brush of a moth's wings, soft and fleeting, Edmund dared a chaste kiss against them. A test of the waters.

"You'll forgive me, no?"
 
Seeing Edmund stumble over his words, for once in a brief moment in time unable to immediately string a sentence of flowing, beautiful words was a rather humane moment to see. Edmund was usually perfect. Followed every order given to him, stepped with caution around Oliver, and never faltered in his speech. To see him crack, for just a moment, his formak façade slowly fading away, made Oliver's heart flutter just a bit.

The shy feel of Edmund's kiss upon his knuckles felt much nicer than he thought such a mundane action would. He wasn't unused to it, occasionally would he have male suitors at social events and thus would be given one, but something about it being from Edmund made it feel a lot more intimate than something of necessecity and of politeness. Oliver held a small, gentle smile on his lips, not caring to try and force it away.

"You have your opinions based on what you were told and what you learned as you grew up and older, Edmund." Oliver began, meeting his gaze. "It'd be a lie for me to say that I didn't think of you much more than just a servant when we first met. That you had no character, no past, no characteristics that would draw me to you. I cannot blame you for what you cannot help to do." He concluded.

"If there's anything to forgive, then I will always forgive it."
 
"Such altruism is more befitting of a saint than a king." Edmund teased. One could hardly expect such sympathy and kindness from an ingenue, let alone a young man of status such as Oliver. His words, sweeter than any confection, had managed to mollify even Edmund's bitterness. But one had to take care with honeyed words. They drew flies in black masses, and even Beelzebub could appear as a temptation in the right light. That thought wriggled like a maggot in the soft of Edmund's consciousness. He prayed Oliver was selective in the company he kept, prayed social promiscuity wouldn't become him. For both their sakes. He moved to face Oliver squarely.

"Always is a promise." Edmund explained. "One you can't afford to keep, and so I won't hold you to it. But!" He grinned, all canines, and cat-mischief in his eyes. "The sentiment isn't lost on me. And I intend to test it." With his free hand, Edmund combed his fingers, drunk-blunt and graceless, through Oliver's hair and 'round his ear. "There's no way I'm not going to leave you at least a little disheveled." he warned playfully.
 
Oliver scrunched up his face at the feel of Edmund's fingers mussing up it hair, though it was not out of disgust. It was more of a reflex; when he was younger, his mother would always muss and fuss over his hair, and always hated it when she did so, making him not too keen on people touching his hair. However, realizing it was simply just Edmund, his face relaxed, and he didn't try and swat his hands away from his hair.

"The hair? Really? Not even the unbuttoning of the shirt," Oliver commented with a hum. "Sad that you only want to feign a disheveled look," Oliver said, mostly in jest, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips.
 
It was a jest, bait, and Edmund took it willingly. "Nothing feigned, I assure you." He spoke lowly, leaning ever closer, closer, until their faces were nearly side by side. "I'm only looking for a decent grip on you." His hand snaked from Oliver's hair, along the pulse of his neck and to his collar where Edmund slotted two fingers between the top button and fabric of Oliver's shirt. With a dexterous snap of his wrist, it popped free, falling soundlessly between them.

"Don't mind if I take that." he chuckled and lightly kissed the juncture of Oliver's jaw and ear. It was a game of patience and attrition, played in slow, calculated acts. Edmund wanted to savor it, one subtle sensation at a time.
 
Oliver shuddered at the feel of Edmund's breath grazing along his neck as he spoke, the air hot against his skin. The closeness they now shared was absolutely wonderful. To keep him close to him, and perhaps also to help ground himself, his hands slid up Edmund's front and tightly grasped onto his shirt, crumbling the once ironed-flat and tucked in shirt. Oh well. At this point, if both were to look disheveled, it wouldn't be surprising on this damn ship.

Oliver's eyes slipped closed, and he tilted his head back. "You damn tease," Oliver whispered lowly, eyes opening to look at him with a playful glare. "Are you going to steal more from me today?"
 
Feeling his shirt pull tight around him, cinching in Oliver's grasp, Edmund smiled. He hadn't a second thought for his clothes. He'd let Oliver cling to them for whatever reason, whenever, forever. Edmund could live in that gesture of need, of someone wanting him. He couldn't recall the last he'd felt such, if ever.

'A tease', Edmund held his tongue. If only Oliver knew how sadistically teasing he fantasized of being. To feel another's musculature writhe, clutch and shudder beneath him, the high of control and drawing out another's pleasure- Edmund took a steadying breath. He was thinking too far ahead, days, months beyond their current shared moment.

"If I recall," he breathed, finally letting his hand slide from Oliver's, "You implored earlier that I take from you." He glanced to Oliver, lips twisting in a half-smile. "I'm only following orders." By his shoulder, Edmund pulled Oliver as close as he dared, the hand grasping his shirt was all that separated them. His other hand slid to support Oliver's neck as Edmund moved to kiss along the cord, the carotid pulsing just underneath. Edmund thought he could hear it, or was that the rhythm of his own heart, pounding like a war drum or the wings of a great, infernal beast.

Chapped lips, the heat of Oliver's skin, the undulating sea beneath. Impulsively, Edmund's teeth grazed Oliver's skin, and gently, as though in askance, bit him. A playful test of the skin's elasticity that Edmund couldn't help himself from doing.
 
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Oliver's eyes lid closed once again, letting himself get lost in the simple way things felt. The heat seeping into him that radiated from Edmund -- from his hands, his mouth, his words, his lips -- it made his heart flutter and pound, something he had no doubts Edmund was able to feel with his mouth pressed at his pulse point.

The sharp feel of a gentle bite, nothing so hard that it would absolutely draw blood but certainly not a grazing of teeth -- made Oliver gasp, and his hands tighten their vice-like grip upon his shirt. No one had ever bitten him before, so the pin prick sharpness of his teeth, the feeling almost akin to a pinch, surprised him. The sensitive skin of his neck left the feeling amplified, too. It drew the breath straight out of his lungs.

"You've only stolen my wine and a stupid button. And unless you stealing my breath counts as theivery, you're doing a shit job, quite frankly." Oliver retorted, smirking at Edmund. He knew his teasings were provoking him somewhat, and that exactly what he wanted right now. The flame between them both was still slowly growing to life, hesitent with some actions, but had the potential to become something more, and right now, Oliver wanted more.

"I'm giving you a chance to show off, and you're leaving me unimpressed, Edmund."
 
Oliver's hands betrayed his intent, Edmund felt it, relished it, and in turn twisted Oliver's playful goading. "Such impatience." Edmund feigned incredulity, pulling away enough to see Oliver's face in full. "And so rude to rush a display to its culmination. I'm tempted to withhold it all together." His eyes darkened, "Or have you beg." But after years without, Edmund hadn't the resistance to execute the prior with grace, and Oliver wasn't riled enough for the latter. So he improvised.

"But I'd rather take my piece of you." In an uncharacteristic show of brute force, Edmund pushed Oliver down against the bed where he straddled and pinned him, one hand against Oliver's shoulder and the other holding his jaw, exposing the canvass of his neck which Edmund was eager to mark. Again he bit him, harder, assuaging what pain it caused with kisses and heat. Edmund wanted to marble him with bruises, stain the skin just below the surface with blood. Like watercolor flora, abstract blooms of carnal desire. He wanted to give Oliver a reason to wear high collars, and to let any curious, adulating attendee of the wedding know that their lionized king was already claimed.

Eyes closed, carried by a baser instinct, thrall to his desire, Edmund moved from Oliver's throat to mouth, kissing him with more need and passion than intended, as though drawing something vital for his soul from Oliver's lips. With a staggering breath, he eventually broke away, furtively meeting Oliver's gaze before looking aside. In that moment, Edmund had lost control. Somewhere between ashamed and afraid, he tried to find the words to apologize.
 
It felt like things went by really quickly. In one moment the two of them were still sitting up, chests practically pressed together, Oliver's hands almost ripping Edmund's shirt apart at the seams and Edmund gently holding Oliver up with his face nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. With a few teasing and chiding words Oliver was pushed down against the bed, though at first another shock to him like the bite, it didn't leave him quite as breathless.

The next bite left a small groan escaping his lips, something he didn't want to slip from his lips but it had snaked past regardless. The sharp bite then gentle kisses provided to be an interesting contrasting feel upon his neck. He didn't doubt that there would be some sort of marks developing soon enough. Oliver didn't know if he'd be able to hide them for the wedding but he didn't have much time to dwell on something so far away when--

Edmund kissed him. While it certainly wasn't unwelcome, it was intense, a bit too much for Oliver, shocked and surprised by the feel of Edmund's lips against his own that he pretty much froze in place during the short duration of the kiss. When Edmund broke away, gaze turning away from him, he wasn't quite sure what to say or do. It wasn't like the kiss was out of bounds. Oliver was entirely fine with it, seeing as the bites and kisses to his neck were in the same ball park. But it was the pure passion and intensity of it, perhaps, that left him speechless. Some things maybe were left unsaid?

But damn. Oliver wanted to hear it.

"Edmund..?" he tentatively began, his hands still gripping his shirt coming lose and letting go. He pushed himself to sit up once more, Edmund now a bit weirdly sitting in his lap, but not uncomfortable. His hand reached up and gently carressed his cheeck, gingerly turning it so Edmund faced him once more. At this point, he wasn't sure what else to say. Tell him to spill his feelings? Tell him to apologize and end this right now..? Oliver didn't want the latter and desired the first. He didn't continue, closing his mouth into a tight line and looking down, hoping Edmund would continue.
 
When Oliver let go, Edmund felt as though he'd been set adrift. That grounding element of connection, gone. It only compounded the feeling that Edmund had crossed a tacitly drawn line. He'd taken too much, just as he'd worried. The kiss hadn't been reciprocated. How could it be? It was too sudden, too much, too... intimate. Pain, possession, even violence were more socially acceptable than intimacy. To bear one's self so purely, without restraint or censor, it was uncivilized.

At Oliver's touch, Edmund slowly surfaced from his reproachful thoughts. "That was rather forward of me." He stated inadequately, wistfully smiling. Absently he smoothed the front of his shirt. Like his words, the act was ineffectual. How could he explain something that, to his knowledge, had been impulsive and without sound reason? He tried to palliate in jest.

"I suppose I made an impression." Edmund chuckled weakly. Whether in reference to the kiss or bites, he didn't say.
 
Oliver let out a soft breath, a breath he didn't realize he was holding inside of him until it had finally escaped through his lips. Edmund had continued where Oliver wasn't sure how to, though his response was expected. That was out of line of me, followed by a statement in some way of jest. At this point, Edmund was predictable with how he would respond to situations. This particular one was no exception.

"I... didn't dislike it," Oliver replied meekly, turning his head away. His thumb absentmindedly caressed his cheek, softly grazing over his skin. "It was just sudden." He concluded, briskly. He wasn't sure if he should say or mention that he wanted to try that kiss over, to make it more romantic and less holy shit.

"You could say that," Oliver said with a shrug, turning his head to face him one more. "Not a bad one, though."
 
Well, that certainly wasn't a sterling review. Edmund didn't find it reassuring either. All at once, he was young again, with Abigail from Loden Street curbing their sexual encounter with 'Are you done, 'cause I think 'm good.', summarizing the loss of virginity as 'eh'. Nothing like the ruthless indifference of a teenage girl to cripple one's confidence. Reality could be so vapid. Edmund sighed in resignation, annoyed with himself.

He took Oliver's hand from his face and again kissed the knuckles, perfunctory this time, as though in greeting. "I do believe my contretemps has killed the mood." Edmund confessed with a self-depreciating smile. Somewhat awkwardly, he released Oliver's hand and slipped from him, intent on leaving. He knew such wouldn't assuage his blunder, that would hang over his head like a guillotine for possibly ever after. No, it was because Edmund felt he hadn't any other means to redress the situation. He couldn't imagine Oliver wanting an encore, giving him a second chance to right his wrong. Edmund felt Oliver's reaction had substantiated as much.

"I should... probably check in with the crew." He suggested. "Is there anything I could get you, like brandy to thoroughly erode that memory I just made for you?"
 
Oh. Things went south about as quickly as that kiss had gone, just minutes earlier. Once more the change in atmosphere between them, the tone of the conversation was abrupt and left Oliver's mind blank for several moments. How did they go from close, oh so wonderfully close, breathing in one another's breaths, feeling the vibrations of Edmund's words against him and the thundering of his heart to a large gap of distance between them, suddenly cold. Oliver didn't want it to end, especially on such a sour note he clearly had created all on his own.

Oliver stared at Edmund, his mouth a thin line. Edmund was back to his duties, what formalities he should have as his personal butler: distanced, poised, and no intimacy.

He craved it like he craved nothing more. To hell with the damn formalities for once and for all. "No." Oliver simply stated, and before Edmund could make a single twitch to leave, he continued, "I want you to stay." He slipped off the bed and stood in front of Edmund. "You didn't kill anything. You didn't ruin any memories and make me want to drown it away in alcohol. I want you to stay and never see the crew because you're here with me the entire time." He finished, and during his spiel he grasped onto his hands, gingerly, the warmth from them imediately seeping into his pores.

"We should try this all over again. Good start, bad end."
 
Part of Edmund still wanted to put physical distance between himself and that stultifying moment, a tendril of shame that implored him to run. But with Oliver's interposition and insistence, that desire was muted, swallowed in the delight of acceptance. Maybe, Edmund thought, if he hadn't froze-up, the kiss would have been forgotten and insignificant. Though, it was anything but insignificant. The need that drove him to it, that swell in his chest, that sensation like a prelude to suffocation, that was still very much there. And Edmund could still feel it.

"Reclusion isn't befitting of a king, you know." Edmund quipped, a playful smile lightening his countenance. His hands in Oliver's, Edmund swung them slightly, aimlessly. The whole situation was a bit risible and awkward for him. Even in drunken daydreams, he'd never have thought it possible to be in such a predicament. He chuckled, mostly at himself, in disbelief.

"Where does one start again?" Edmund wondered aloud. "At the beginning or where they left off?" He couldn't help taking a glance towards Oliver's neck. One bruise was already visibly forming on that affectionately abused skin. It made him smile.
 
This was good. Oliver stopped Edmund from going, from letting what just transpired between them not become a memory that would not be spoken about any longer or even acted upon. Oliver desperately didn't want that. What had happened was ... what he hoped for and much, much more. He didn't want it to fade away so fast.

"Before the kiss, maybe?" Oliver suggested, shrugging. He wasn't thinking of a definitive spot other than before the kiss so they could make it right. It was clear Edmund thought Oliver wasn't wanting of it, but it was anything but. Shock was the only thing stopping him.

"All of it... was nice," He admitted, his voice now softer and quieter.
 
"Nice?" Edmund parroted, a brow lifted in askance. "Earlier you said it 'wasn't bad', and there's quite a disparity between the two." His smile connoted the playful nature of his remark, devoid of any belittling intent. "Your change of words isn't in blandishment, is it? Because it's working." With a knowing look, Edmund slipped his hands from Oliver's and gestured to the bed.

"Sit. I'm not going to run off on you." Edmund moved toward the bedside table and began emptying the contents of his pockets. From various folds, he produced the rubbish and tools in which he found daily use. A snuff box, a ring of lock picks, coins, a handkerchief, and a crude flat-handled pocketknife, all tossed beside the empty bottle. Edmund made to remove his jacket next. If he were to be keeping Oliver company for some time, he may as well settle in.
 
"You're really scrutinizing my choice in words, despite both not having the connotations of disgusting and revolting." Oliver retorted with just as much of a playful edge as Edmund's own tone, the new shift in atmosphere pleasant.

He did just as he was told, taking a seat on the bed once more, getting comfortable in the middle of the bed. He curiously watched Edmund as he emptied his pockets and slipped off his jacket. At least he was comfortable enough to empty his pockets for him. The ring of lock picks and pocket knife were particularly interesting, but Oliver didn't question it.

"Nice to know you'll stay. Not like you have much of a choice," Oliver replied, looking at Edmund expectantly.
 
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