[He's surprised to hear the purr in his own voice, richly amused and with just a hint of teasing. It's far more playful than he's ever inclined to be— but gods, being tangled up like this inspires it in him. Having that hand in the dark extended to him, that nuzzling nurturing . . . it broke a wall between them, Fenris thinks. Gods only know what that means for the coming weeks, for they cannot act like this around one another outside of this room, but . . . right now, Fenris does not feel the looming tension and danger of the past few weeks. There's no harm in teasing his charge, not like this.
And maybe it helps, not lingering on the past. Maybe it's nice for once to speak about Danarius without either shuddering in terror or flinching in pain. He's never done it before, and every irreverent, sneering word that slips past his lips is an exercise in freedom. He cannot say the topic does not hurt, for it does, and he can feel the strain already (the urge to speak of him more and the urge to never speak of him tangling up nauseatingly within him, slow to rise but overwhelming in its intensity)— but still, it is a marvel.
Idly, his fingers trace against Astarion's bare skin, curves and whirls that mean nothing.]
But if you're going to threaten me, little noble, do it properly. Do you intend to drag me out on the dance floor at one of these parties? Or merely teach me in some back room and make sport of it?
no subject
[He's surprised to hear the purr in his own voice, richly amused and with just a hint of teasing. It's far more playful than he's ever inclined to be— but gods, being tangled up like this inspires it in him. Having that hand in the dark extended to him, that nuzzling nurturing . . . it broke a wall between them, Fenris thinks. Gods only know what that means for the coming weeks, for they cannot act like this around one another outside of this room, but . . . right now, Fenris does not feel the looming tension and danger of the past few weeks. There's no harm in teasing his charge, not like this.
And maybe it helps, not lingering on the past. Maybe it's nice for once to speak about Danarius without either shuddering in terror or flinching in pain. He's never done it before, and every irreverent, sneering word that slips past his lips is an exercise in freedom. He cannot say the topic does not hurt, for it does, and he can feel the strain already (the urge to speak of him more and the urge to never speak of him tangling up nauseatingly within him, slow to rise but overwhelming in its intensity)— but still, it is a marvel.
Idly, his fingers trace against Astarion's bare skin, curves and whirls that mean nothing.]
But if you're going to threaten me, little noble, do it properly. Do you intend to drag me out on the dance floor at one of these parties? Or merely teach me in some back room and make sport of it?