Marton and Liam. A Matter of Perception
Jun. 8th, 2005 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palace_marton[Takes place in the late-ish evening, the same day as Marton, Will, Christian, Johnny and entourage arrive at Liam's]
Waking from his doze in front of the fireplace in the living room, Marton found himself alone and cursed softly, grinning to himself. Seemed everyone had gone up to bed and no one had bothered to disturb him. He checked the clock and it wasn't that late. Oh well. He was still pleasantly tired; he'd head up to bed now, maybe see if Will was still awake. Today had been good, riding, talking, lying around, but damned if doing nothing wasn't bloody tiring! He got to his feet and picked up the book he'd been reading to put it away. Handling the volume reminded him and he cursed again, patting his pocket to make sure before leaving the living room and heading out to the hall, hoping Liam was still awake and in his study.
Liam was indeed awake and in his study, sitting at the desk updating files. He was trying to get as caught up as possible, since he knew that the next few days were going to be long and busy. A pleasant break, but still long and busy. He'd uploaded session notes from his com to the main patient files and was adding comments and analyses, projections and plans. Things were going well. Even Linus had mellowed out somewhat since--
A knock on the door interrupted his musings. He saved and closed before turning around and calling, "Come in."
Relieved, Marton pushed open the door with a smile on his face. "Not disturbing you, am I? I was just on my way up and wanted to say goodnight, amongst other things." He approached the desk, resting his hands on the polished surface and looking down at his old friend.
"No, not really. Things always seem to pile up and I was tackling the mountain with a spade." Liam smiled up at Marton and shut everything down, then got up and stretched. "Would you like a drop of something? I have the only alcohol in the house and I'm willing to share."
"I'd love a whisky," Marton agreed and waited while Liam poured a glass from the bottle in his desk. They walked over to the couch in the corner and Marton toasted with a smile and a, "Cheers."
Liam returned the toast and went to sit, but Marton forestalled him. He pulled a slim package out of his jacket pocket, wrapped in black and silver paper and obviously a book of some kind, and handed it to Liam with a gruff, slightly embarrassed, "Happy Birthday."
Liam accepted the package with a warm smile and a "Thank you." He unwrapped it carefully and a fine leather binding emerged. He turned it over and looked at the spine and his eyes widened. "Marton! Thank you!" He leaned over and kissed the other man on the cheek, then turned his attention back to the gift.
The Book of Silk and Wax had originally been printed during the Barbarian Times, by a small publisher specializing in what was considered "perverted" literature in those days. Although it had been reprinted many times in the intervening centuries, there was an air of history about the original edition, as well as a careful quality no modern publisher had ever cared to copy. Each volume was hand bound, with fine moire endpapers. The illustrations had been engraved and printed, and then watercolored, each copy in a slightly different color scheme. It had been horrendously expensive even when new, and only a few volumes had sold. The unsold inventory had eventually been destroyed in a warehouse flooding, and all but six of the copies distributed had been lost.
But beyond the quality, rarity and value, this was a piece of history, the literature of his profession. The one hundred poems in the book sang of the joy of sculpting a human being into an ecstatic expression of erotic submission, and the one hundred pictures illustrating them were each an example of minimalist grace and beauty. The modern editions treated the material as a how-to manual, with re-drawn illustrations emphasizing the detail of the ties and bindings for those who wanted to copy them. In Liam's opinion this completely missed the point, and he'd wanted -- no, craved -- an original copy ever since he'd seen one in the collection of an extremely wealthy client, decades earlier.
"Marton, this is...." For once unable to find the words, he simply shook his head. "I'll treasure this always, and I don't give a damn if that's a cliche. Each poem, each drawing, is like a stiff drink, and I'll be a long time savoring them all. Just... thank you." He leaned over and kissed him again, more slowly, this time on the lips.
Marton was smiling, pleased, his worries allayed, when Liam kissed him and his natural response was to lean into the embrace and relax into the kiss. It took him a few moments to gather himself and then he stiffened automatically, stepping away and already cursing himself for his inattention. Damnit! He'd had this conversation with Liam years ago but then, Liam wasn't the one slipping, wasn't offering anything more than Marton was willing to take. It wasn't Liam's fault he.... Marton tried a smile. "I'm glad you like it," he said, studying the carpet for a moment while he composed himself. "I remembered you waxing lyrical about it a long time ago and when I saw it was up for sale...." He shrugged.
"I'm glad you did." Liam sat down and paged carefully through the book, skimming a bit to give Marton a chance to compose himself. "Very few clients had the patience for anything in this style," he said, as much to make conversation for a minute as anything else. "Some of these pieces can take two and a half or three hours, and that's if all they want is to be tied up and fucked. This style, though, is properly savored and appreciated. It's a state to be achieved and experienced, like a fine liquor. Too many of the subs these days want to belt it down with no more care than they'd give to a case of beer, a means to the end of being restrained and fucked, to be gotten through as quickly as possible.
"I think that's why the TK bondage was so popular," he mused. "It's fast and thorough and lets them get to the 'good part' as quickly as possible. This, though. This is for sipping." He gave Marton a serene smile, one hand brushing lightly back and forth on the smooth leather cover of the book.
Liam's recitation was not helping Marton regain his equilibrium at all. He swallowed hastily and attempted another smile, but aborted it when it became plain that it was going to be sickly at best. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "This wasn't supposed to...." He shook his head and took a step back, ready to turn away. "I think I'll go to bed, leave you to your reading," he said.
Liam watched the usually-unflappable man backpedalling and felt the conflicted reluctance behind it. He sighed and said, "Marton. I'm sorry, truly. I never intended to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to leave. Unless you want to."
Marton stopped. His hand gesture was agitated but his voice was calm as he said, "No. Don't apologise, Liam. It's my problem, not yours." Deliberately, he walked back over and sat down, picking up his drink. "Let's talk about something else," he suggested. "Anything that doesn't trigger my fucked-up childhood impairment about control. Any suggestions?" The smile he managed this time was a lot more genuine.
"How about if you tell me a bit about your young man? Does he know why he's here, aside from vacationing away from the camera-bearing masses?"
Marton shook his head. "I don't think he's put two and two together yet," he said. "Unless he's avoiding you?"
Liam shook his head, indicating he'd not noticed anything like it.
"He knows these kids were abused, he knows you deal with abused kids, but I don't think he's clicked that he's an abused kid, you know?" Marton chuckled a little at the thought, his discomfort waning in the face of the subject change. "Will insists he's coping with it, that he can cope with it and I believe him," Marton said. "I just want reassurance. I want to know that he's going to be all right and he can... we can move on."
Liam frowned, thinking back on Will's behavior and demeanor during the afternoon and evening. He'd seemed a little stressed, yes, but that could be caused by any of a number of things, including having Marton worrying over him if there was nothing seriously wrong. "Do you have any reason to believe he's having a problem? Anything you've seen, noticed? Or is this a just-in-case check?"
"A bit." Marton admitted readily. "Though he has been tossing and turning in his sleep a lot more. But mainly I think he just needs some closure on this. I don't believe he has 'victim' problems, I think he just needs to mourn the end of his hope, you know? Will kept going home because he hoped things could change, that his mother could love him if he did... something. He doesn't have that anymore." Marton shrugged again and took a sip of his drink. "And I'll readily admit I know next to nothing about your profession but common sense is telling me that he needs to grieve."
Liam nodded. "You're quite likely right. From what you've told me of his mother, the chances of her ever living up to his ideal are non-existent. It would be better if he could let go of that expectation, if it's still there. We'll see."
"Good." Marton was happy with that. He got to his feet and reached for Liam's empty glass. "I'm buying," he offered with a grin, taking the crystal and heading back to Liam's desk for a refill. "Tell me something," he began as he walked back to his seat. "Does anyone here have dressage experience...?"
Waking from his doze in front of the fireplace in the living room, Marton found himself alone and cursed softly, grinning to himself. Seemed everyone had gone up to bed and no one had bothered to disturb him. He checked the clock and it wasn't that late. Oh well. He was still pleasantly tired; he'd head up to bed now, maybe see if Will was still awake. Today had been good, riding, talking, lying around, but damned if doing nothing wasn't bloody tiring! He got to his feet and picked up the book he'd been reading to put it away. Handling the volume reminded him and he cursed again, patting his pocket to make sure before leaving the living room and heading out to the hall, hoping Liam was still awake and in his study.
Liam was indeed awake and in his study, sitting at the desk updating files. He was trying to get as caught up as possible, since he knew that the next few days were going to be long and busy. A pleasant break, but still long and busy. He'd uploaded session notes from his com to the main patient files and was adding comments and analyses, projections and plans. Things were going well. Even Linus had mellowed out somewhat since--
A knock on the door interrupted his musings. He saved and closed before turning around and calling, "Come in."
Relieved, Marton pushed open the door with a smile on his face. "Not disturbing you, am I? I was just on my way up and wanted to say goodnight, amongst other things." He approached the desk, resting his hands on the polished surface and looking down at his old friend.
"No, not really. Things always seem to pile up and I was tackling the mountain with a spade." Liam smiled up at Marton and shut everything down, then got up and stretched. "Would you like a drop of something? I have the only alcohol in the house and I'm willing to share."
"I'd love a whisky," Marton agreed and waited while Liam poured a glass from the bottle in his desk. They walked over to the couch in the corner and Marton toasted with a smile and a, "Cheers."
Liam returned the toast and went to sit, but Marton forestalled him. He pulled a slim package out of his jacket pocket, wrapped in black and silver paper and obviously a book of some kind, and handed it to Liam with a gruff, slightly embarrassed, "Happy Birthday."
Liam accepted the package with a warm smile and a "Thank you." He unwrapped it carefully and a fine leather binding emerged. He turned it over and looked at the spine and his eyes widened. "Marton! Thank you!" He leaned over and kissed the other man on the cheek, then turned his attention back to the gift.
The Book of Silk and Wax had originally been printed during the Barbarian Times, by a small publisher specializing in what was considered "perverted" literature in those days. Although it had been reprinted many times in the intervening centuries, there was an air of history about the original edition, as well as a careful quality no modern publisher had ever cared to copy. Each volume was hand bound, with fine moire endpapers. The illustrations had been engraved and printed, and then watercolored, each copy in a slightly different color scheme. It had been horrendously expensive even when new, and only a few volumes had sold. The unsold inventory had eventually been destroyed in a warehouse flooding, and all but six of the copies distributed had been lost.
But beyond the quality, rarity and value, this was a piece of history, the literature of his profession. The one hundred poems in the book sang of the joy of sculpting a human being into an ecstatic expression of erotic submission, and the one hundred pictures illustrating them were each an example of minimalist grace and beauty. The modern editions treated the material as a how-to manual, with re-drawn illustrations emphasizing the detail of the ties and bindings for those who wanted to copy them. In Liam's opinion this completely missed the point, and he'd wanted -- no, craved -- an original copy ever since he'd seen one in the collection of an extremely wealthy client, decades earlier.
"Marton, this is...." For once unable to find the words, he simply shook his head. "I'll treasure this always, and I don't give a damn if that's a cliche. Each poem, each drawing, is like a stiff drink, and I'll be a long time savoring them all. Just... thank you." He leaned over and kissed him again, more slowly, this time on the lips.
Marton was smiling, pleased, his worries allayed, when Liam kissed him and his natural response was to lean into the embrace and relax into the kiss. It took him a few moments to gather himself and then he stiffened automatically, stepping away and already cursing himself for his inattention. Damnit! He'd had this conversation with Liam years ago but then, Liam wasn't the one slipping, wasn't offering anything more than Marton was willing to take. It wasn't Liam's fault he.... Marton tried a smile. "I'm glad you like it," he said, studying the carpet for a moment while he composed himself. "I remembered you waxing lyrical about it a long time ago and when I saw it was up for sale...." He shrugged.
"I'm glad you did." Liam sat down and paged carefully through the book, skimming a bit to give Marton a chance to compose himself. "Very few clients had the patience for anything in this style," he said, as much to make conversation for a minute as anything else. "Some of these pieces can take two and a half or three hours, and that's if all they want is to be tied up and fucked. This style, though, is properly savored and appreciated. It's a state to be achieved and experienced, like a fine liquor. Too many of the subs these days want to belt it down with no more care than they'd give to a case of beer, a means to the end of being restrained and fucked, to be gotten through as quickly as possible.
"I think that's why the TK bondage was so popular," he mused. "It's fast and thorough and lets them get to the 'good part' as quickly as possible. This, though. This is for sipping." He gave Marton a serene smile, one hand brushing lightly back and forth on the smooth leather cover of the book.
Liam's recitation was not helping Marton regain his equilibrium at all. He swallowed hastily and attempted another smile, but aborted it when it became plain that it was going to be sickly at best. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "This wasn't supposed to...." He shook his head and took a step back, ready to turn away. "I think I'll go to bed, leave you to your reading," he said.
Liam watched the usually-unflappable man backpedalling and felt the conflicted reluctance behind it. He sighed and said, "Marton. I'm sorry, truly. I never intended to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to leave. Unless you want to."
Marton stopped. His hand gesture was agitated but his voice was calm as he said, "No. Don't apologise, Liam. It's my problem, not yours." Deliberately, he walked back over and sat down, picking up his drink. "Let's talk about something else," he suggested. "Anything that doesn't trigger my fucked-up childhood impairment about control. Any suggestions?" The smile he managed this time was a lot more genuine.
"How about if you tell me a bit about your young man? Does he know why he's here, aside from vacationing away from the camera-bearing masses?"
Marton shook his head. "I don't think he's put two and two together yet," he said. "Unless he's avoiding you?"
Liam shook his head, indicating he'd not noticed anything like it.
"He knows these kids were abused, he knows you deal with abused kids, but I don't think he's clicked that he's an abused kid, you know?" Marton chuckled a little at the thought, his discomfort waning in the face of the subject change. "Will insists he's coping with it, that he can cope with it and I believe him," Marton said. "I just want reassurance. I want to know that he's going to be all right and he can... we can move on."
Liam frowned, thinking back on Will's behavior and demeanor during the afternoon and evening. He'd seemed a little stressed, yes, but that could be caused by any of a number of things, including having Marton worrying over him if there was nothing seriously wrong. "Do you have any reason to believe he's having a problem? Anything you've seen, noticed? Or is this a just-in-case check?"
"A bit." Marton admitted readily. "Though he has been tossing and turning in his sleep a lot more. But mainly I think he just needs some closure on this. I don't believe he has 'victim' problems, I think he just needs to mourn the end of his hope, you know? Will kept going home because he hoped things could change, that his mother could love him if he did... something. He doesn't have that anymore." Marton shrugged again and took a sip of his drink. "And I'll readily admit I know next to nothing about your profession but common sense is telling me that he needs to grieve."
Liam nodded. "You're quite likely right. From what you've told me of his mother, the chances of her ever living up to his ideal are non-existent. It would be better if he could let go of that expectation, if it's still there. We'll see."
"Good." Marton was happy with that. He got to his feet and reached for Liam's empty glass. "I'm buying," he offered with a grin, taking the crystal and heading back to Liam's desk for a refill. "Tell me something," he began as he walked back to his seat. "Does anyone here have dressage experience...?"
