(no subject)

[iniquiticity]

_He_ for some definition of _him_ - stood with that steel-backed straighteness that he'd tried to rub out of his back. He - the Emperor, the other he, _Artorin_, perhaps - was beautiful and impossibly foreboding and carried himself with all that imperial poise, posture, and subtle threat. His clothes hung at all those perfect weights and angles. It had been long enough that he could accept that Artorin was beautiful, in a specific, severe way.

Still, he knew, of course, what that severity did to Artorin - what that steel back felt like - what all those clothes meant. He more than anyone else knew that prison. He had been lured out of it, once. He nearly felt obligated to pay that forward, even if he could never do what Kip did. He had his own plans and strategies around such rescues.

They - he, Artorin, Artorin's guards, hands tight on their spears - were in the Sun Cabin. It was as much privacy as he was going to get.

"My lord," he said, and it did feel a little strange in his mouth, "You look wonderful."

Artorin looked at him. his golden eyes were flat as bars. "Thank you, Fitzroy," he said, utterly even.

Fitzroy took a step closer. He was between the guards and Artorin now. Artorin did not conceive any ground, of course, but Fitzroy knew that terror utterly, that someone would come too close. He was more confident than ever he would be the exception to the rule. The magic knew him and he knew it. He shifted, slightly, and touched Artorin's wrist.

Artorin gasped, not unexpectedly. He did take a step back this time, out of surprise, and of course he was waiting for something to happen - Fitzroy would have waited for something to happen - and nothing did.

"Stay there," Artorin said, to his guards, who had taken a step forward. They obeyed, of course.

|| Fitzroy expected the guards to object, but he only heard their shuffling footsteps and the door gently closing. He reached up for the topmost delicate layer. A second, new stab of sympathy - Conju would have never chosen this outfit. Fitzroy had seen Rhodin and Ludvic, but Rhodin had not been in the wear of an important courtier, and Ludvic not Commander. He had not seen Conju at all. Artorin did not speak or move while he was undressed. It was strange to have such buoyed confidence that this was correct with no feedback at all, and yet, he knew.

When Artorin was fully naked he reached out, fingers shaking, and touched Fitzroy's face. Despite Conju's badgering he was sun-weathered and wrinkling now. Artorin touched every wrinkle, and then, as if picked up by wave, took a step closer to him, his other hand on Fitzroy's face.

Fitzroy kissed him, and he was, for the first time, surprised with the furiousity that Artorin kissed him back.

"Do you feel me?" he asked, once Artorin had finished kissing him, lips gleaming, breath quick, "Can you feel yourself, that you are a man, and not even one who can resist the pleasures of the body?"

"I feel myself," Artorin said, in awe, and he ran his hands down his own bare chest, sternum, stomach, pelvis, "I want to know more of myself."

"Yes," Fitzroy said, and with some rapidly he stripped out of his own clothes, and showed this man, himself, freedom in bed.