Vacillation (1x1 Mamoru and Avery)

Oliver's shock was something Edmund couldn't understand and mistook for nervousness. "You're not going to hurt me." he said, turning to face Oliver. "My pocket knife should be sharp enough that you won't have to dig in any." Never mind that he was also drunk. Blood brothers, inoculations, or even just nicks shaving, a cut was hardly felt unless the implement was blunted with use. Oliver had to have had some experience with such, no?

But perhaps he didn't.

Edmund stripped off his jacket and began rolling his sleeve. "I can demonstrate if you're worried about doing it wrong." He offered. Forearm exposed, it looked milk-white and immaculate in the obscuring gloom of the room, the flaws and tan of his skin hidden by night. And from his pocket, Edmund produced the small knife he'd taken out previously on the ship. He thumbed off the sheath.
 
He was serious about this. He was really serious about this. Oliver couldn't wrap his mind around why he'd want to do this, what it was even supposed to mean. How was this going to repair their relationship? If Edmund was going to be drunk and destructive to himself, Oliver didn't know what to think other than the fact that it was extremely concerning. His brows curved inwards and he grabbed Edmund's wrist, stopping him from moving any more.

"God, Edmund, what are you doing?" His eyes were still wide, still not comprehending the situation. Was this happening because he was drunk? It didn't occur yesterday. Perhaps it was the situation. Whatever it was, it didn't settle right with Oliver at all. He slipped the pocket knife from his grasp and held it away from him.

"I'm doing whatever harm you want me to, because it's fucked up, and it doesn't make any damn sense."
 
It was probably because he was drunk that Oliver could take his knife so easily. Reflexes sluggish, grip poor, Edmund was certain he still could have made the cut clean, just deep enough to see white, skin opening like an eye before blood began to bead in and overflow. He wanted it so much. But that look in Oliver's eyes.

"You look so scared." he commented absently. Edmund smiled, melancholy as though on the edge of tears, and cupped Oliver's face. "I just want something of you that won't leave, something to remember you by when-" he couldn't put it to words, afraid that if he did it would become reality. Edmund's smile tightened. "Some guys get wedding rings and prenuptial agreements. They can wear their love publicly. They've got trophies of conquests and mementos of old flames. But not me."

Edmund felt maudlin, desperate,and half insane, like the world was coming to and end. And maybe his was. He needed something tangible to know it wasn't all for naught.
 
Now did it make some little string of sense. Edmund wanted a mememto to also be with his memories, something to confirm that it all had happened at all. The fact that he wanted a scar was still deeply concerning and horrifying as hell, but there was at least some sort of reason behind it that Oliver could now understand. He gingerly placed the pocket knife aside.

"I won't give you a scar, but.." Oliver shoved a hand into his left pocket and procured a short necklace, simplistic in nature. It was one his mother gave him, no particular meaning behind it other than to remember the memory of his mother after she had passed. The gem that swung along the chain was an amethyst, sparkling and deep in color. He looked at it fondly for a few moments before taking Edmund's hand and placing the necklace in it.

"You can have this. It's something my mother gave me. Amethyst stone. It'd look better on you," Oliver said simply, a small melancholy smile upon his face. "Better than a scar, I think."
 
So unexpected, Edmund paused as his alcohol-addled mind processed the gift in hand. A necklace. Slowly, he pulled away a little, back straightening as he took the necklace in both his hands and examined its length. Its metallic and polished surfaces winked gently back. And even in the low, soft light of the room, Edmund could see the richness of the pendant. Nothing like the tawdry clarity of quartz and colored party glass, the light didn't penetrate this gem. Clandestine as the ocean depths, coveting secrets and mystery, the amethyst was pure.

"This could get me killed." Edmund commented, inebriation curbing any censor. If caught with such he could be accused of stealing, or a lesser man could simply murder him to take it. But Edmund made no move to return the gift. He looked back at Oliver and dared to jest. "Here I thought people found scars handsome. Maybe it's just me." He thumbed the pendant, appreciating its smoothness. Funny how Oliver had joked only a day before how giving gifts was sappy. Maybe Edmund was.

"Why were you carrying this around?" He asked, curious.
 
"Hide it well, then. When we're in private, though, I'd prefer if you didn't hide it away." Oliver slipped the necklace from Edmund's grasp and unhooked it out of its loop, before leaning forward to reach behind Edmund's neck to clasp it back together, now secure and hanging upon his neck. Oliver couldn't surpress the smile upon his face when he saw how nice the amethyst looked upon him, simplistically beautiful.

He leaned back, though his hands slid down from Edmund's shoulders to his hands, lightly stroking the insides of his wrists with his thumbs. "I held onto it after my mother's passing. Something to remember her by." He replied simply. There wasn't any other reason besides sentimentality. Though now that it was Edmund's, he was ok with letting it go.
 
Jewelry was never very fitting of Edmund's character, incongruous to whatever sense of style he could claim. And so, even though it was 'round his neck, it felt like it was Oliver's still. And perhaps it was. A part of Oliver he could carry about, less intimate, but more personal than a scar. It saliently reflected Oliver's quintessence. Edmund would have touched it more had Oliver's hands not been on his. He was reluctant to move them, grateful for the contact.

"It feels wrong of me to keep it." Edmund admitted, glancing from the necklace back to Oliver. "It being something of a memento of your mother and all." He didn't insist on returning it though. Instead, Edmund tried to find the words to show his gratitude, alcohol making him more candid than intended. "I don't know how to thank you." he began. "In fact I... I don't think I can. I've been an ass since the reception, ruining your entire evening. Any ire you feel inclined to show me I'd understand. I... would be deserving of it actually. I've been selfish, and only put more stress on you."

Edmund sighed softly, his body seeming to deflate with it as his shoulders slumped forwards. "I apologize, though I know it's paltry in contrast to my offenses."
 
Oliver could understand Edmund's belief that he was able to still deal with him, even after getting drunk, vomitting off the side of a balcony and nearly causing a scene, causing them to flee the wedding reception extremely prematurely. In normal circumstances, Oliver would be perturbed, but with Edmund ... the situation was different. He saw him differently, felt about him differently and treated him differently. He felt slightly annoyed if anything at all, but really, he was glad they left the reception early. If he was still there, there'd be no surprise if he had a head splitting headache.

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't ruin my evening or anything. Just made me realize how dangerous our relationship was. Reminded me how I shouldn't get careless with outside appearances." Eventually he held Edmund's hands, his hands cold in comparison to his own.

"I know its in safe hands with you. You are a thief, aren't you?" He jokingly added, a small smile on his face.
 
There was danger to their relationship, yes. But to what end. That was Edmund's concern. Most couples had obvious goals and desired outcomes for their relationships. Marriage, cohabitation, children, etc. But because of the disparity in their statuses, Oliver and Edmund didn't have any such direction in their affair. Their relationship was in limbo, a string of dalliances that risked calumny or burning out entirely. Edmund simply couldn't live with being the equivalent of a mistress. His nature wouldn't allow it.

"You're too lenient with me." Edmund admonished lightly. "One would never expect such clemency from your stringent upbringing. People would take advantage of that." Or at least they would suspect Edmund of doing such. It was, after all, what he had originally planned upon the former king's death. How things changed...

"I'm more of a petty thief." he admitted. "More likely to sell what I take than hoard it like some miserly bastard. But-" Edmund pulled their clasped hands towards himself, delicately kissing the back of Oliver's hand. "This, I promise I'll take to the grave."
 
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It was nice that they were back into the swing of things. They both were now not looking for words to say to break the silence between them as they mulled over what the future might hold and what it means for right now. While it was most certainly still a thought in Oliver's mind, it didn't feel as pressing and wasn't at the forefront of his thoughts. He could focus mostly on the now, and hope it would stay for as long as they could manage.

"I can't help it. I don't wish to punish people for small little things. I don't anger easily either," He believed he got his mercy from his mother. She was always a gentle soul, always seeing the humanity in everyone. While Oliver wouldn't go to the extent of preventing true punishment as she had a few times in her life, he certainly wouldn't have every crime against him sentenced with death. Edmund was no different. Him getting drunk at the reception causing their early departure wasn't the worst thing and he wouldn't treat it as such.

"If you fail to uphold that, I'll kill you, even after your death." Oliver joked, laughing softly.
 
"Is that so?" Edmund lilted. "How would a man of such equanimity and clemency kill another? Would you prefer to keep your hands clean, lock me away to starve and wither, hire a cur to take my head? Or would you like to make it personal, feel the resistance of my body behind your blade, or the sensation of my cartilage popping and caving in your hands as you choke me?" Gently, Edmund freed one of his hands and touched the curve of Oliver's neck in remembrance of the marks he'd left before.

"Brutality doesn't suit you." Nor did such a morbid topic, Edmund surmised, but couldn't keep his tongue from drunken garrulity. He didn't believe Oliver capable of sadism. Such base character didn't fit him. But Edmund did wonder just what frightful things Oliver could do if ever pushed far enough to anger.
 
The descriptions of rather... detailed deaths were not a topic that Oliver was fond of. His clear discomfort with the intricacies of death was perhaps the best illustrator to the fact that Oliver never wished to deal with it and had never really seen it before in his life. He's seen dead bodies, of course, but not ones that had been violently murdered or attacked. He could only image how gruesome it would look to be. Oliver's fingers began to fiddle with Edmund's jacket.

"I'd prefer if we'd stray away from such topics. I didn't intent to have you get so elaborate in your descriptions." His voice was.. small. Timid almost. He began pulling at a loose thread on his jacket.
 
"Memento mori." Edmund said apologetically. "It's hard not to think, in detail, of how we may arrive at the inevitable. But-" He took hold of Oliver's fidgeting hand in mock oath. "I'll protect you from it. Better than any of those other servants with their garish regalia and accolades, 'cause their temerity ain't got shit on a man half-crazy with love." Edmund froze, quickly adding as though in explanation. "I'm drunk."

That he slurred between careful diction and a pauper's patois was evident enough of that, but to indirectly confess to something he couldn't determine was... Fuck. Could love arise from sympathy and, literally three, kisses? Was it fated? Was he desperate? In stories, people had slain dragons to aver their affections, while Edmund seemed to have accidentally sleazed his way into something serious. The math wasn't adding up. And yet... he'd said it, perhaps a touch dramatic, but honest all the same.

"I should probably sleep." Edmund whispered, mostly to himself.
 
Love. While Edmund didn't say something even more intimate like "I love you", it certainly had a lot of meaning behind it. Oliver wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was perhaps genuine -- what you say when you're drunk is what you truly feel, right? But even so, was he supposed to feel elated? Feel something mutual? It was too soon for Oliver to place a true feeling with it right now. He decided not to mull on it more before he began getting even more stressed.

Oliver leaned forward and gave a ginger kiss to Edmund's lips, brushing a few strands of hair from his face. God did his lips taste heavily of chardonnay and sherry. He ignored the lingering taste. "We might as well get to bed. We leave tomorrow afternoon." He wasn't sure how to address the use of the word love just yet. Perhaps later, if it ever came up again.
 
Four. And it could be the last, so why bother keeping count.

Edmund licked his lips absently and looked aside. It didn't matter what they discussed, or how flippant the tone of it was. Things always circled back around to the pressing question. There was nothing he could do to engender what he wanted, no act or words auspicious enough. Because, truly, he didn't know what was best, only that their current course was set to founder.

"Sleep it is then." Edmund agreed, beginning to unbutton his shirt. The imperceptible weight of the necklace shifted and fell against his skin. It was then he remembered. "Could you hand my knife back?" he asked, palm up and waiting to receive it. There was no longer an intent to use it, so Edmund couldn't imagine Oliver wanting to confiscate it for good.
 
Oliver nodded in reply, reaching over and grabbing the knife before gently placing it in his hand. He then pulled Edmund's other hand from his shirt, insistent to undo the buttons himself. He wasn't so sure that Edmund would be even able to do it himself with the same normal practiced ease of his sobered self. He began where he had left off, easily sliding each button free and loosening the shirt bit by bit.

It was hard to miss how the necklace settled upon Edmund's collarbone so nicely. It looked like it belonged there, that it was never Oliver's necklace in the first place but always his. He was glad to have given him the necklace.

"I should probably get you some water. Drinking that much alcohol probably did some number on your body," He commented, speaking more to himself however.
 
Edmund wanted to believe that Oliver acted out of a desire to, not because of pity or chore. But Edmund was feeling increasingly like a burden. Between the stress already placed on Oliver, their affair, and Edmund's inebriation, he couldn't stomach seeing Oliver assuming even such mundane tasks at Edmund's benefit. He place his knife atop the already shed jacket.

"You don't need to do that." Edmund said, taking one of Oliver's hands. Though he never specified whether his comment was in reference to the unbuttoning of his shirt or fetching water. Perhaps both. Edmund wanted to insist that things should have been reversed, that it was his job to look after Oliver. But...

"A hangover is my consequence to suffer if it arise. You should sleep. You need it." He exhorted before assuring, "I'll be near and all right."
 
Oliver had at least gotten most of the buttons undone before Edmund had stopped him. He wondered if maybe his insistence on him to not aid him was because Oliver felt obligated to do it. Oliver merely wanted to return what Edmund had done for him back on the ship, as he felt that he was taking and receiving more than he was ever giving in this relationship. If he decided it would have to be terminated to prevent any damages later on, Oliver wanted to at least make sure that it didn't become one sided in affection and of casual intimacy such as undressing one another. It felt too much like he was the one being pampered when it should go both ways.

Oliver dropped his hands away. No point in pressing it. "You need to sleep too. And even if you must suffer a hangover for whatever self righteous reason you have, it won't let me rest easy." Oliver chided lightly, slipping out of bed.
 
"Wait." Edmund insisted in a tired sigh. With some effort, he followed Oliver from the bed to wrap arms around him from behind. It was an act with manifold purpose, keeping Oliver near and keeping Edmund balanced. As the shadows thickened, the floor became more fluid in Edmund's failing sight. He rested his head against Oliver's shoulder. Perhaps his greatest reason for holding the other was just to feel him near.

"What would they think of a king fetching his own water." Edmund laughed weakly. Though it would reflect more poorly on him than Oliver, it was still remiss if he let such slide. A hangover was nothing Edmund couldn't endure. If anything, he was hoping that physical pain would mask what anxiety and hurt he was expecting to come with the morning. Expectancy of Oliver's decision would hang over him like the dread of a guillotine. A headache and sensitivity were nothing in comparison to that.

He exhaled softly. "Is there anything within my power that would let you rest a little easier?"
 
Oliver was surprised at the action of affection, though not opposed to it. He practically melted against Edmund, though was concious not to lean completely onto him and cause the two of them to tumble over into a heap on the floor. He rested his own hands upon Edmund's, which were placed gently upon his stomach, rising and falling in time with his breaths.

"I don't care about that. Whatever they think, they will think. It's how they act upon it that is worrisome," Oliver replied coolly, fingers stroking along the back of Edmund's hand. Even if he didn't care what people would think, seeing him fetching his own water, he couldn't deny that he would feel the slightest bit guilty leaving Edmund here upon his own.

"Having water is my main concern," He retorted, a small smile on his face at his comment. "But... Simply staying with me for the night could suffice as well."
 
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