#istvan tag

[toloathe]

plotting call for istvan toth. this man is a schemer extraordinaire

[toloathe]

He should have stopped the fight sooner.

Probably.

Or Erik should have ended it sooner. Either way, he would never admit out loud to enjoying that little scuffle between his Erik and Lord Capon, but truly, watching the boy get thrown around like a particularly unruly sack of hay had been one of the best things he'd seen for a long while. Even if the vantage point hadn't been perfect, it had been good enough. Good enough to see the fight,

Good enough to see the kiss.

What happened after that he couldn't say, the kiss had him turning from the banister he'd been leaning against, removing himself from the sight and the thought of it. He had better things to do than watch--

Whatever the hell that was. Erik could always be a little unpredictable in a fight but he hadn't been anticipating that.

By the time that Erik - his Erik - finds him in their shared room Istvan has long since sat aside his chaperon, book and paper and wine carefully set out on the table. He doesn't need to look to know the sound of the larger mans footsteps, the sound of his armor, so his attention remains perfectly pointed elsewhere.

" Have you finished with him, dear-- "

@oathisanoath Kisses Istvan while still having @pawnedprince blood on his lips.

Blood. Heavy, metallic near cloying in it's taste.

Concern floods through him, but when he looks the younger man over for any sort of injury that would cause a bleed like that and finds none? A grin stretches slow across his newly bloodied lips, tongue darting out just a moment before a gloved hand lifts to wipe that dark red away.

" Is that Capon you've just fed me? "

[toloathe]

They are long since woven together, a tapestry of black and gold, of red an white, it's striking colors faded by the strength of the sun above them and it's fibers worn. But that weave still holds it's strength, something tested by distance and tempered by violence as war had the tendency to do. Even now with Erik in his hands, with his gloves and armor and layers of clothing removed between them he can feel that fabric begin to thin.

Time and fate were not on their side, they never had been, they never would be.

❝ you belong to me and i to you. ❞ @oathisanoath

The devotions strikes him as the toll of a bell might for someone with sally and bell rope in hand. Deep in his chest, reverberating through his ribcage and shaking the breath from his lungs. His Erik.

His.

" No, my dear boy. We belong to no one but ourselves. But I give myself to you freely, as I always will. "