[And that's the trouble with letting down his guard.]
Would you, now . . .?
[It's a filler statement, murmured even as he silently scolds himself for his carelessness. Fasta vass— but what had he expected? The two of them tangled up so warmly, his body framing Astarion's own and his foot wedged so that he can't close his legs . . . of course the whelp was going to make another pass at him. Of course he was going to see what he might get, for pure seduction doesn't go against the terms of their agreement— and, Fenris thinks, the boy likely isn't thinking too far ahead. He does not imagine any consequences to this, not really. A slap on the wrist, and indeed, perhaps that's all Fenris would get—
But perhaps not.
But Astarion isn't moving. He isn't wiggling his hips or turning his head so he might slip that wicked tongue against a curling tendril of lyrium. He's asking, not demanding— and so while the danger is still ever-present, Fenris need not react like a virgin caught with his pants down.
No, he could say curtly. Or he could be more playful with it: yes, I'm tempted, and pretend he'd interpreted Astarion's statement as a question concerning more advanced weaponry. But the former is a lie and the latter feels stupid— and anyway, Fenris doesn't want to treat Astarion as his tutor did. Settle down, know your place, dismissive and patronizing in turn, no, that will not be his way.
Fenris draws back: not too far, but just enough that he can catch Astarion's eye.]
I will tell you that your attempts at flirtation are not going to work.
[But then, more honestly:]
Tell me truly: are you even attracted to me? Or do you merely see this as another potential conquest you can later brag about to your friends?
no subject
Would you, now . . .?
[It's a filler statement, murmured even as he silently scolds himself for his carelessness. Fasta vass— but what had he expected? The two of them tangled up so warmly, his body framing Astarion's own and his foot wedged so that he can't close his legs . . . of course the whelp was going to make another pass at him. Of course he was going to see what he might get, for pure seduction doesn't go against the terms of their agreement— and, Fenris thinks, the boy likely isn't thinking too far ahead. He does not imagine any consequences to this, not really. A slap on the wrist, and indeed, perhaps that's all Fenris would get—
But perhaps not.
But Astarion isn't moving. He isn't wiggling his hips or turning his head so he might slip that wicked tongue against a curling tendril of lyrium. He's asking, not demanding— and so while the danger is still ever-present, Fenris need not react like a virgin caught with his pants down.
No, he could say curtly. Or he could be more playful with it: yes, I'm tempted, and pretend he'd interpreted Astarion's statement as a question concerning more advanced weaponry. But the former is a lie and the latter feels stupid— and anyway, Fenris doesn't want to treat Astarion as his tutor did. Settle down, know your place, dismissive and patronizing in turn, no, that will not be his way.
Fenris draws back: not too far, but just enough that he can catch Astarion's eye.]
I will tell you that your attempts at flirtation are not going to work.
[But then, more honestly:]
Tell me truly: are you even attracted to me? Or do you merely see this as another potential conquest you can later brag about to your friends?