[All of Fenris easily read through the layers stacked down to his core in those unhabited seconds— it's his skin that's become glass. Or his chest, his lungs, his skull— Astarion now able to peer right through him with a sudden punch of resounding clarity, unexpected and surreal, like the sheet laid out across them both fell back far enough in shifting to reveal only his heart. And if it was a choice, it was a strange one in a world where no one can afford to slip. And if it wasn't—
Ask me for what you want.
No runaround. No games. Naked in unexpected parallel with every bit of clothing on, they've both gone as still as prey animals once their cover's been pulled up, neophytic and small in an arena they don't know. Where irony makes a fineboned heir as practiced as a half-starved wolf (oh yes, he knows his name), and somehow, Astarion gets the feeling that this time, it won't die at the stroke of midnight.
It'll start there, finding lungs and life until dawn comes. Paradoxically charged: neither really alive nor truly dead— unseen outside this room. Waiting for one of them to smother it or stamp it out. (And he wants to. And he can't. And he's caught between the two, desire and hesitation tangling together, a longing so achingly fierce in his expression that it's all but tangible.)
His heels slip against silk sheets when he sinks lower, scuffing atop the mattress.
It might as well be the edge of a cliff.]
So don't trust anything.
[Not a line, this time. Not a card played when his voice comes slithering in before his senses, hearing himself talk like it's someone else (and it's not) offering the breed of warmth he's never known (and it's not— it's not), scoffing with a sobered smile just to realize how far forwards he's leaned. He was hunting him, the first night he slunk into his space.
He's not hunting him now.
(His little finger moving first, linking itself to Fenris' in the gap that still remains, scant few inches that are left. Curling in to almost kiss him— only to kiss his forehead instead. Nose pushed briefly against those three little dots (gods help him, he doesn't know better yet), before he exhales once more in a huff.]
Let me earn it first.
[And no, he didn't promise to set him free. But he can protect him for now until he does. Give him a chance to learn that it's all right. At least inside this room. These halls. This quiet, empty wing.
no subject
Ask me for what you want.
No runaround. No games. Naked in unexpected parallel with every bit of clothing on, they've both gone as still as prey animals once their cover's been pulled up, neophytic and small in an arena they don't know. Where irony makes a fineboned heir as practiced as a half-starved wolf (oh yes, he knows his name), and somehow, Astarion gets the feeling that this time, it won't die at the stroke of midnight.
It'll start there, finding lungs and life until dawn comes. Paradoxically charged: neither really alive nor truly dead— unseen outside this room. Waiting for one of them to smother it or stamp it out. (And he wants to. And he can't. And he's caught between the two, desire and hesitation tangling together, a longing so achingly fierce in his expression that it's all but tangible.)
His heels slip against silk sheets when he sinks lower, scuffing atop the mattress.
It might as well be the edge of a cliff.]
So don't trust anything.
[Not a line, this time. Not a card played when his voice comes slithering in before his senses, hearing himself talk like it's someone else (and it's not) offering the breed of warmth he's never known (and it's not— it's not), scoffing with a sobered smile just to realize how far forwards he's leaned. He was hunting him, the first night he slunk into his space.
He's not hunting him now.
(His little finger moving first, linking itself to Fenris' in the gap that still remains, scant few inches that are left. Curling in to almost kiss him— only to kiss his forehead instead. Nose pushed briefly against those three little dots (gods help him, he doesn't know better yet), before he exhales once more in a huff.]
Let me earn it first.
[And no, he didn't promise to set him free. But he can protect him for now until he does. Give him a chance to learn that it's all right. At least inside this room. These halls. This quiet, empty wing.
That's what I want.]