It's everything he ever fought to escape. It's humiliation and objectification, his entire self tethered on a leash to a goading master, forced to stand there and be reduced to something little more than a toy for these nobles to play with. Devourable, that brat calls him, his mouth curled up into a smug smirk and his eyes glittering with malice. Fuckable, breedable, and Fenris can almost hear it in Tevene. He can almost smell Danarius' magic curling on the edge of his tongue, feel the weight of that collar heavy on his throat—
And it only grows worse as Astarion joins in on it. Silver stare flicking over Fenris' form, his bearing cruel, and it doesn't matter that it's so clearly goading. It doesn't matter that Astarion does it because he's hungry for attention and embarrassed that Fenris chased after him.
It still burns.
Get on your knees, and for a moment such rage flares in his gaze.
Don't indulge it. Don't give these nobles any hint of a reaction, for that way only lies ruin. There's no way to win with people like this, and so Fenris does what he has always done: stoically ignore them in favor of his chosen target.]
You have two options.
[His voice is pitched low. That isn't done out of consideration for Astarion, but rather his job: the whelp won't come to heel if his pride's on the line.]
Walk out with me now, Astarion, or I will carry you out. One affords you dignity, while the other leaves you looking like a squalling child. But do not test me on this, for I have no further patience for your antics tonight.
no subject
It's everything he ever fought to escape. It's humiliation and objectification, his entire self tethered on a leash to a goading master, forced to stand there and be reduced to something little more than a toy for these nobles to play with. Devourable, that brat calls him, his mouth curled up into a smug smirk and his eyes glittering with malice. Fuckable, breedable, and Fenris can almost hear it in Tevene. He can almost smell Danarius' magic curling on the edge of his tongue, feel the weight of that collar heavy on his throat—
And it only grows worse as Astarion joins in on it. Silver stare flicking over Fenris' form, his bearing cruel, and it doesn't matter that it's so clearly goading. It doesn't matter that Astarion does it because he's hungry for attention and embarrassed that Fenris chased after him.
It still burns.
Get on your knees, and for a moment such rage flares in his gaze.
Don't indulge it. Don't give these nobles any hint of a reaction, for that way only lies ruin. There's no way to win with people like this, and so Fenris does what he has always done: stoically ignore them in favor of his chosen target.]
You have two options.
[His voice is pitched low. That isn't done out of consideration for Astarion, but rather his job: the whelp won't come to heel if his pride's on the line.]
Walk out with me now, Astarion, or I will carry you out. One affords you dignity, while the other leaves you looking like a squalling child. But do not test me on this, for I have no further patience for your antics tonight.
Which is it to be?