[A lurch of movement still impressively rife with prowess has rough fingers latched tight around his own before he can take them back: their pressure tight, but far from biting; like the scales have tilted in its somehow endearing wake, he's that much prouder when he's framed by Fenris' wounded exposure. Chin a little higher. Half-lidded stare easy and slow-building, he tips his head just to let thoughts of anything else slip free under gravity's practiced hold.
Focusing on what's more important, for once.]
Here. [He nudges at his companion with a slanted flash of teeth, leaving their fingers intertwined just the way Fenris had arranged them— ] Roll over. [ —scuffling all of his silhouette into the empty space that formerly divided (and confined) them until his side's pushed flush against Fenris' arm. His hip. His leg. Pushing like a child at a sleepover just to den himself right in without a drop of shame or dignity, grinning all the while.
And the thing is, he doesn't stop. Not until Fenris has conceded and actually rolled onto his side, facing away so that Astarion can wrap around him with a pair of reedy arms and jabbing knees (and— last of all— two sets of ice-cold toes).
The door's shut. More importantly, it's locked. No one's walking in unless they want them to.
no subject
[A lurch of movement still impressively rife with prowess has rough fingers latched tight around his own before he can take them back: their pressure tight, but far from biting; like the scales have tilted in its somehow endearing wake, he's that much prouder when he's framed by Fenris' wounded exposure. Chin a little higher. Half-lidded stare easy and slow-building, he tips his head just to let thoughts of anything else slip free under gravity's practiced hold.
Focusing on what's more important, for once.]
Here. [He nudges at his companion with a slanted flash of teeth, leaving their fingers intertwined just the way Fenris had arranged them— ] Roll over. [ —scuffling all of his silhouette into the empty space that formerly divided (and confined) them until his side's pushed flush against Fenris' arm. His hip. His leg. Pushing like a child at a sleepover just to den himself right in without a drop of shame or dignity, grinning all the while.
And the thing is, he doesn't stop. Not until Fenris has conceded and actually rolled onto his side, facing away so that Astarion can wrap around him with a pair of reedy arms and jabbing knees (and— last of all— two sets of ice-cold toes).
The door's shut. More importantly, it's locked. No one's walking in unless they want them to.
Call that true safety by any given name.]