[It's a strange look he gives Astarion. Not displeased, which might be surprising to the other elf. Not the gruff indifference or unimpressed dissuasion of before, but rather . . . puzzlement, bemused but quietly pleased. They're all beneath you, and he doesn't understand why Astarion would say such a thing— but right here, right now, Fenris is inclined to believe him.]
Oh?
[The mattress dips between them, Astarion suspended above Fenris as he bares his teeth in such a fierce little grin. His cheeks are faintly flushed, his hair mussed from the pillow— gods, he's so far from the poised little thing that Fenris had pulled from the party. Messy and imperfect, fierce savagery in his hungry smile— but in that moment, Fenris thinks, Astarion looks more attractive than he ever has before.
It's a quiet realization, one he doesn't quite articulate even to himself. Pretty, for he has never seen Astarion's face glow like this. Flush with sincerity and eagerness . . . together, and the word slips through his mind so sweetly. Together, as his fingers flex and he tries not to think about reaching out to touch him.]
no subject
Oh?
[The mattress dips between them, Astarion suspended above Fenris as he bares his teeth in such a fierce little grin. His cheeks are faintly flushed, his hair mussed from the pillow— gods, he's so far from the poised little thing that Fenris had pulled from the party. Messy and imperfect, fierce savagery in his hungry smile— but in that moment, Fenris thinks, Astarion looks more attractive than he ever has before.
It's a quiet realization, one he doesn't quite articulate even to himself. Pretty, for he has never seen Astarion's face glow like this. Flush with sincerity and eagerness . . . together, and the word slips through his mind so sweetly. Together, as his fingers flex and he tries not to think about reaching out to touch him.]
And by what criteria are you measuring?